


ren, solo

by dadcastellanos



Series: knight no more [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Closet Sex, Desk Sex, Fantasizing, First Time, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Blow Jobs, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, lots of lube, the non-consensual drug use is implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-11 10:39:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7045096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dadcastellanos/pseuds/dadcastellanos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aloysius Hux is Vice President of First Order Records for good goddamn reason. Years and years of hard work have lead to his success. But one day, President Snoke decides to fit him with a pet project: to make Kylo Ren, the mysterious and volatile frontman of the metal band Knights of Ren, a successful solo project. Can Hux juggle Ren's petulance, insecurities and oddities well enough to get this band off the ground? Or is "The General" going down with the ship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my lovely artist was [allantieeart](http://allantieeart.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!! go send them lots and lots of love!

****

 

**KNIGHTS OF REN CALL HIATUS - _Legendary masked metal band done for?_**

Hux stares at the newspaper with a half-raised eyebrow, nibbling at the blueberry muffin he’d picked up from the café downstairs. It’s curious, reading this news instead of hearing it first hand, and he’s not sure if he should bother with being annoyed. President Snoke, the only person with a position higher than his own, owned both First Order Records and the Knights of Ren, and as Vice President of the First Order, Hux assumed he would be told. Hux decides it’s probably for the best he didn’t know about this; the less he has to deal with the Knights, the better, as far as he’s concerned. Besides, the First Order didn’t manage or deal with the Knights at all. Snoke didn’t really have a reason to let him know.

 _The frontman, known only as Kylo Ren, has reportedly called for a hiatus as he pursues his own solo career,_ the article continues, and Hux snorts to himself, pulling a chunk off the top of his muffin. Kylo Ren had made quite a name for himself thanks to the Knights, who had been in the music business for ten years in some form or another. Originally a record company, the Knights became a well-known self-publishing heavy metal band instead, famous for the 7 members playing shows in full armor and being masked at all times. They all seemed to have their “specialty” in the band, be it drums, guitar, keyboard, or some other ridiculous instrument, and were known only by their first names and the surname Ren. Otherwise, every single member was draped in mystery.

Except Kylo, of course. Not only was he the singer and therefore usually the spokesman of the band in interviews and such, but he was the one who was more often in trouble for having wrecked a hotel room or decked a paparazzi. Hux could recall a dozen different stories in which Ren had made an assistant cry for not bringing the right food or had trashed whatever room he was sitting in because something hadn’t gone his way. The manager of the Knights had, of course, managed to silence 80% of these stories before the media had caught wind, but that didn’t stop everything, especially when the media had personnel getting physically accosted by the man. Kylo Ren was, in short, a constant media and managerial disaster with an ugly mask, and Hux didn’t have time for that.

 _The question now is: are the Knights through? Is Kylo Ren going to crash and burn? What does a solo career even look like for someone who spends most of his time standing completely still on stage in a mask and singing through a voice modulator?_ asked the article, and Hux shakes his head, closing the newspaper. What, indeed. He could only imagine what a train wreck that was going to be for the Rens’ manager.

The muffin is half-eaten but Hux pushes it to the side anyways, no longer interested in it; he presses a button on the phone seated on his desk, waiting patiently for it to click through. “Good morning, Susan,” he says to the intercom.

“Good morning, sir,” comes the voice of his secretary.

“I need my itinerary for the day, please.”

“Yes, sir,” replies Susan, clearly sounding confused. “Uh. Your entire schedule was cleared, remember? This morning?”

Hux licks his lips slowly, leaning forward and clicking the button again. “I’m… sorry, did you say _cleared_? I’m afraid I don’t remember that.”

“President Snoke emailed,” she replies quickly, clearly nervous at having to be in the middle of this. “Did… you get his email too, sir? He said he would be calling at ten..”

“Ah, of course,” Hux sighs. He tries to keep his voice lightly annoyed, as if he’d simply forgotten, instead of absolutely furious for being kept out of the loop. “I’m sorry, you’re right. Thank you,” and he clicks the button off, pressing another to block further communication. He has- a quick glance at his watch -five minutes to make himself presentable, damn it all. President Snoke was often one who tended to believe in the overly dramatic, so he shouldn’t be _surprised_ some stupid move like this was in Snoke’s repertoire, but it didn’t make it less annoying. Someday, he would own this company, and then he wouldn’t be lost to the whims of some batty old fuck who didn’t know how to properly hold a conversation.

Hux pulls a remote out of his desk; two quick button presses and everything begins to slide into place. His office was, quite frankly, cavernous, with an absurd amount of space between his desk and the door, and windows that made up almost two entire walls. At the touch of the button, however, these massive windows begin to dim, and an equally large screen slowly descends from a hidden panel on the ceiling, covering most of the glass to the left of his desk. There’s a metallic locking noise from the great wooden doors at the front of his office as they are mechanically locked, and Hux stands, pushing his chair in. He swipes the muffin away into a trash can and tidies the newspaper, then pulls down his jacket to make sure it’s straight.

“Ridiculous,” he says aloud as the lights dim and the projector hidden in the opposite wall begins sputtering to life.

In the middle of the floor of his office is an ornate rug, meant to both offset the color of the room and show Hux where to stand. He stands on the far side of it, lining his toes with the edge with the practiced ease of a man who’s been forced to suffer this many times, and sighs in annoyance again. The most frustrating part about his office was that it was furnished before he took over; Snoke had been adamant the decorations were placed where they were for a reason. Hux was half convinced the entire room was bugged, cameras and all, but after the first year of his tenure he’d decided _fuck it._ If the old bastard wanted to spy on him, that was his prerogative. At least then Snoke would truly know where Hux stood on matters like, oh, say, _the absolutely unacceptable meeting system._

The projector, which had been showing a blue screen as it waited for a new feed, splutters again at 10 AM on the dot as Snoke’s channel broadcasts to it. Hux pulls on his jacket again, slipping the remote into his front pocket and brushing off his pants, and falls into a parade rest, a remnant of his equally ridiculous upbringing. Snoke’s face appears first, taking up the entire screen as the old man peers into the camera. He leans back slowly, inspecting Hux with one raised eyebrow, and lounges in his overly large chair for a moment, waiting.

“President Snoke,” Hux says, in a tone that’s only just this side of revenant, as if he worshipped the man instead of lacked any proper respect. Once, perhaps, Snoke had been formidable, raising his companies and bands alone and against all odds; now that Hux was there to do the brunt of the work for him, the old bastard really just laid around collecting the cash and making asinine Skype calls apropos of nothing. Hux often wondered if Snoke actually had something he focused on, like knitting or cats or collecting stamps, and liked to amuse himself with images of Snoke tottering around some ugly old house with a thousand cats, telling them all about his newest stamp book and how the woman at the post office had been so very rude.

This image comes to Hux suddenly, and he forces himself not to move. Moving = laughing = bad.

Snoke merely waves his hand slightly at Hux’s greeting, pursing his lips and studying the camera, squinting at Hux now and again. “Have you read the news,” he finally asks after what has to be three straight minutes of this. Hux opens his mouth to reply, but Snoke holds up a finger to shush him and looks away, his bored tone more of an affront to Hux than the whole damn ordeal, “about the Knights of Ren.”

“I have, President,” Hux replies.

“Good. Then you are familiar with why I call you today.” Hux swallows. Uh-oh. “Do you remember when you came to this company?”

“..Yes, President.” Uh-oh. Oh, no.

“Your father in exile, rejected by his old friends, and trapped in a new country. So many self-proclaimed advisors told me to leave you on the side with him, but still I gave you work, hoping the great man’s touch was present in you. Hoping that whatever had been within him and been lost had taken root in you, instead.”

“Of course.” This little conversation only comes up right before Snoke says something he absolutely knows Hux has no interest in hearing. _Your father in exile, your family in shambles, one brother dead, another long gone, your new life in a new nation absolutely miserable, but here I was with the golden halo offering you a hand out of the muck_ …. It’s an old ploy, and probably Hux’s least favorite. He much prefers having his own failures thrust at him than the reminder that he was practically riding on Daddy’s coattails, a reminder that Snoke could have left him in the dust to rot with the rest of them and whatever else. As if Snoke were the only one who would have given him work. As if Snoke alone were the last president of a records company at the time, or the First Order had been worth hearing about until Hux had taken control of it.

“I was right to do so. Your work ethic was incredible.” Hux tries not to bristle at the idea that his work ethic wasn’t still incredible. “Your results, almost miraculous. You would pull bands out of miserable anonymity and elevate them to the highest pantheon imaginable.” This is almost worse than the _I saved you from failure_ schtick. Hux can feel his cheeks growing hot, embarrassed. He’d only done his job, as best as he knew how. Father had nothing to do with it, and honestly neither did Snoke.

“That’s kind of you,” Hux tries to interrupt, but is ignored.

“You were my best manager,” Snoke continues as if Hux had never even spoken, “and I believe you still are.” Now, of course, he pauses, waiting for the groveling Hux is sure he believes he deserves.

“..Thank you, President, I’m honored,” Hux replies after a few seconds of Snoke staring at him in silence. This absolutely feels like a setup. No- this _is_ a setup, he just can’t see how it plays out yet. He can’t see how it relates to the Knights- and then he does, just as the words start to come out of Snoke’s mouth.

“I’m glad to hear you say that. I have a job for you.”

Hux’s stomach falls. He literally can’t recall any language strong enough to truly underline how little he wanted involved with this. “Sir, wait,” he starts, trying to mitigate before the damage is even done. “Sir, I must protest.”

“I want you to manage my apprentice, Kylo Ren, as he begins his solo career,” Snoke says, speaking over Hux. “You are the only one I think capable enough to manage it successfully, and he must be successful.”

“Sir,” Hux tries again.

“I know how much you pride yourself on your work, Vice President. Know I expect only the best.”

“ _Sir,_ ” Hux repeats.

“Your timetables have already been cleared for the foreseeable future. I will be handling all of your work as needed from now on; if there is anything I feel you may handle with a steadier hand, I will send it to you as you work with him.” Snoke’s eyes stare through him, and if the old bastard could make his gaze into lasers and cut through Hux, he probably would. He waits for a moment, silently daring Hux to speak up again, but Hux knows better and stays silent. The axe has already fallen, his head rolling on the ground. Hux sees no reason to batter his poor corpse with Snoke’s anger, or incur the wrath of another long-winded _I made you what you are_ speech. “He is now your top priority, in all things. I expect you to accompany him everywhere. Media outlets, hotels, shows and parties.” Hux bites back a snide _shall I sleep on his floor, too, sir?_ “Keep a very close eye on him; he has not had this much freedom before and I do not want him to become overwhelmed. I trust you to keep him … safe,” and it’s clear the word was a stretch to come to, as if it’s the last thing Snoke wants.

Hux has to force himself not to hiss out his response, force himself not to full-on glare up at the screen. What the fuck was he being thrown into. “Of course, President,” Hux replies quietly, a heavy feeling of doom settling itself on his shoulders.

“I have sent him to your building for your first meeting. When you are finished here, go to him, and decide what is necessary as your next step. I know he needs a band, and that he has written several songs already. Ensure they become hits.”

“Yes, President.”

“Do you understand the task I have given you? Do you understand the extent to which I expect your service?” Snoke asks, and Hux’s lips tighten. For all his long-winded _you’re the best_ speeches, Snoke still clearly didn’t trust Hux. He seemed to think Hux was an idiot. Hux turns his face up to the screen, smiling confidently, and nods. “Excellent. As I said before, General, I expect the best.”

The projector splutters and the scene is gone, leaving a blue screen. Hux sneers at it. “Don’t fucking call me that,” he mutters to the empty room.

 

Even with Snoke gone, even with the call over, Hux finds he can’t move from where he’s standing. He takes in a slow breath through his mouth, letting it out through his nose and closing his eyes, trying to think. This could be the end of his career- no, this could be the end of everything he’s worked so hard for in the years after his father’s passing. He practically built the First Order from the ground up, and now Snoke wanted him to throw it all away on some whiny man-child who couldn’t stop himself from creating a scandal every forty-five minutes. Fucking unbelievable. Hux racks his brain, trying to think of what he must have done to require such an extreme punishment, what he possibly could have done to be thrown to the sharks. His numbers were still good, most of his bands’ popularity was holding, his managers and lower staff were all professional to the best of their abilities. There weren’t many scandals in the First Order, and what there were Hux had a way of quietly making them disappear before any damage truly took root.

As far as he could tell, he worked with all of Snoke’s best interests at heart: protecting the company, making money, collecting only the best talent in the world. The First Order was known as a prestigious (albeit mysterious and sometimes terrifying) place to work within the industry, as it was kind enough to the artists to ensure they were paid, and well. Perhaps the level of indoctrination required of new employees had gone too far, or he had chosen a band Snoke didn’t care for, but that seemed more worthy of a stern memo in retaliation instead of just _destroying his entire career_.

Maybe, a little voice muttered in the back of his head, Snoke had finally realized just how hard he worked and how much good he did for this company and truly believed Hux was the only one who could handle the volatile, doomed-from-the-start Kylo Ren. Maybe Snoke honestly thought it was the only way to get what Ren had probably asked for when he broke away from the group. Maybe this wasn’t supposed to end his career, but be the make-or-break proof that could lead to a full Presidency within the First Order. Maybe Ren was some precious thing, and Hux was truly the only one who could keep it safe.

Maybe pigs would fly. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

Well. Fuck Snoke, and fuck his precious “apprentice”, and fuck the Knights of Ren. Fuck the whole affair. This wasn’t going to kill him; he was stronger than this, and had weathered enough scandal in his day to know just how strong he was. This Kylo Ren was either going to behave on his watch or suffer, and he wasn’t going to be kind just because Ren happened to be Snoke’s golden child. Snoke wants a hit? Hux will give him ten fucking hits, and Kylo Ren will get the _fuck_ in line.

Finally, Hux moves. Now that he’s decided he’ll survive Snoke’s half-assed attempt to bury him, he has an unstoppable amount of energy; he strides across the room and back to his desk, pressing the necessary buttons on the remote to return his office back to normal before throwing it savagely into the drawer it belongs in. He’s halfway across the room seconds later, his tablet tucked under his arm and his phone in the other hand, swinging the doors open to the surprise of Susan, who’s sitting and typing at her desk. She stands.

“Susan,” he says aloud, not looking at her.

“Sir,” she replies, standing and nabbing a notepad in case he needs to dictate something.

“Is Kylo Ren here already.”

“Yes, sir; he’s in conference room 7, waiting for you to join him. He’s not alone, he had what looked like two assistants with him.”

“I see. Did he meet with you?”

“Yes, he checked in.”

Hux hates that this bears asking. He sighs, looking up at Susan finally. “Was he wearing that ridiculous getup of his?”

Susan manages to stifle her smile, but only after the corners of her mouth have turned up. “..Yes, sir, he was. Mask and all. They all were. It’s… pretty spectacular,” she adds, tone amused.

“Spectacular. Hm. I think you mean preposterous,” Hux sneers, shaking his head. He looks down at his phone again, pressing a quick message into his text client with a practiced thumb. “I will be meeting with him shortly. Do you remember Phasma? Captain Phasma?” A popular band under the First Order, Captain Phasma and the Stormtroopers had been on hiatus for some time, supposedly retired. Phasma herself had been a friend of Hux’s for some time, and if he recalled correctly she owed him a favor. Susan frowns slightly, trying to recall.

“Yes, I believe so?”

“Ridiculously tall blonde woman, usually wearing heels and silver,” Hux sighs into his phone. “You’ll know her when you see her, I promise. She’ll come to you, saying she has an appointment with me; send her to conference room 7 immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hux looks up from his phone again, shoving it into his pocket, message sent. “Susan, I’m sure you’ve been made aware that my appointments and meetings for what I’m assuming past the next month are all cancelled.”

“Yes, sir.” Susan purses her lips, looking a little uncomfortable at having clearly been put in the middle of Hux and Snoke. “The President mentioned as much in his email.”

“I see. Make sure you forward any calls you can to me if I’m in the building; if not, please give them my work cell, or take messages if you must. I refuse to be cut out of this company’s business while I’m holding this man-child’s hand.” Hux’s fingernails dig into the palm of his hand as a reminder to himself to calm down, and he huffs. “This is _ludicrous_. There’s nothing, _nothing_ of a career to build here, and yet…”

“I understand, sir,” Susan replies, that humor once again in her voice. At least someone’s having fun, Hux thinks bitterly. What is he saying- Snoke’s probably laughing it up back home, throat choked with stamp glue and cat hair. “I’ll do what I can. Should I expect to see less of you?”

“Yes. I’ll send you a message when I’m going to be in the office. The President has made it damnably clear he expects I give our new Lord and Savior Kylo Ren all my spare time.” He rolls his eyes at Susan, who finally fully smiles. “As if I haven’t got a _life._ I’m off. Let me know if I miss anything.” He starts to stride away and stops, turning back. “And Susan, I expect I’ll have to order lunch today.”

“From downstairs?” she calls back at him, leaning over her desk to better see him.

“No, I think something from outside the building would be best,” he replies, shaking his head. “I’ll message you. I’ll have to make sure it’s allowed, first. I’m sure _Lord Ren_ is as picky as they say.”

 

Out of all the conference rooms in the entire building- of which there are quite a few –conference room 7 is Hux’s least favorite out of all of them. Here on the top floor, all of the conference rooms are lined with windows and have gorgeous views of the city in all directions. The doors are all made of frosted glass, and the hallways are lined with that same glass, so that every conference room is full of light, and any unexpected interruptions can be seen coming.

Except, of course, 7, which happens to be in the middle of the floor and boxed in on all sides. It’s dark, it’s claustrophobic, and it’s absolutely not a coincidence that it’s been chosen, Hux is sure of it. Lord Tall, Dark and Mysterious is probably holed up in one of the corners with all the lights off, Hux muses as he stalks his way down the hall to the conference room. Hanging from the ceiling, maybe. Hissing at noises and thirsting for blood. He probably gets it from Snoke, who Hux likes to imagine sleeps in coffins and is allergic to the sun.

Hux has to take a moment at the door of the room to snicker, recomposing his face after a few seconds. _Pull it together,_ he tells himself, and pushes into the room with a straight back and his trademark cool demeanor well in place.

The lights are on, which he finds actually surprises him, and Kylo Ren is sitting at the end of the conference table, with two more Knights standing behind him on either side. All three Knights are in their well-known tight black clothing- looks more like armor up close, Hux notes –and helmets. All three seem to have been waiting here in silence staring at the table, and their masks bob up to look at him simultaneously. They look like they’re here to demand security payments for the fucking mob. Hux raises an eyebrow, surveying them, and sets his tablet and phone on the other end of the table, cocking his head.

“Kylo Ren, I’m assuming,” he says, looking between the other two Knights. “And these two are?”

“Leaving shortly,” Ren responds through that damn modulating mask of his. It sounds even more ridiculous in person. He cocks his head slightly, apparently looking Hux over. “You are General Hux?”

“Don’t call me that,” Hux responds coolly. “My name is _Aloysius_ Hux and I am the Vice President of First Order Records. I expect you to call me Hux while I am serving as your manager.”

“Hm,” Ren replies. The bonus Knights are yet to move, standing stock still with their arms crossed over their chests. Ren shifts, cocking his head the other direction. “Aloysius. That must be a bitch to spell.”

“Luckily, my surname is desperately simple.” Hux waves a hand at the Knights. “I thought you said they were leaving?”

“They are, soon,” Ren replies. He lifts his arms so that his gloved hands are resting on the table and leans forward. “I want to make this very clear: I had no interest in you _serving as my manager,_ ” he spits, “and I have no interest in your staying on for any point in time. This is all the Supreme Leader’s design.”

“I am well aware the President is the reason I’m here today,” Hux sneers in response. _Supreme Leader_. What nonsense. Maybe the Knights were exactly the kind of cult everyone expected they were. “And I can assure you, I have no interest in it, either. But it is what I’ve been ordered to do by _my employer_ , and what I will continue to do until the order is rescinded. You will get in line or I will leave you behind, Kylo Ren.”

Hux can practically hear the snarl in Ren’s throat. Ren leans forward further, and in fact begins to stand, but one of the Knights reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder; this alone seems to calm Ren, who begrudgingly leans back into his chair again. Oh yeah, Hux decides. Definitely a cult.

“Now,” Hux says. “Are they going to leave so that I can get started.”

There’s a long, terse moment of silence as Hux and Ren stare at each other. At least, Hux assumes Ren’s staring at him through the hideous monstrosity that is that mask of his. The hand on Ren’s shoulder tightens, the Knight seemingly holding Ren in place, and then disengages suddenly as the two Knights stalk out of the room. Ren’s head turns to watch them, and Hux gives them a tight, polite smile that’s honestly more of a sneer. When the door closes, Ren stands.

“Those two are my security detail,” he starts, his voice just this side of a yell.

Hux stares at him, unamused and unflinching. “You have no need for a security detail in my building,” he replies coldly, glaring the mask down. “Furthermore, I am the one requested to stay with you as often as I am able. If President Snoke had wanted your _detail_ with me, he would have mentioned it.”

Which, as far as Hux knows, is a lie. Snoke absolutely would keep things like this from him, especially considering the man couldn’t be bothered to tell Hux his _entire_ _schedule for running Snoke’s fucking business_ was cleared, but from the way Ren leans back slightly, Hux guesses Ren doesn’t actually know that. Ren seems to trust his _Supreme Leader_ with everything, so far. How curious. Hux wonders how far that’s going to stretch into their business together.

“Now. I prefer to deal with my clients personally, and without liabilities such as masked men I didn’t expect and do not know,” Hux continues when it’s clear he’s successfully shocked Ren into silence. “We don’t need them leaking important information to the press.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Ren mutters, sitting back down.

Hux ignores this, continuing. “I have a list of rules and expectations for every one of my clients. You will be expected to read it and adhere to it as best you can. Also, I’m going to request you take that damned mask off so we can speak to each other, face to face. Like adults,” he adds.

“My face is never to be seen.”

“On stage, certainly. In public, perhaps. But that rule does not apply here. Here, you will take that helmet off when you speak to me or I will refuse to work with you.”

“That’s fine. I can manage on my own.”

“Can you?” Hux snaps, unable to stop himself. “Can you organize a recording session? Can you tell the technicians how to mix? Or can you mix yourself?” He pauses. No response. “Can you tell me how to put together album artwork? Do you know how to plan, manage and layout a tour?”

“No,” Ren finally murmurs, voice dangerous.

“Then take. Off. The fucking mask.”

“The Supreme Leader will not care for this,” Ren warns, his tone threatening to get violent again.

“If he doesn’t care for it, he can call me himself,” Hux responds without missing a beat, looking down and tapping at his tablet. “Mask off.”

He’s looking down at the tablet while Ren takes off the helmet; there’s a soft huff of air as it’s disengaged, which is curious but not enough to warrant glancing up. Ren slams it on the table, staring straight ahead at Hux, and Hux waits a good 30 seconds at least before being bothered to look up.

When he does, he meets Ren’s dark eyes immediately in an attempt to continue establishing his authority, but his stare falters when he actually _sees_ the face of Kylo Ren. He’s shocked. The young, oddly handsome face staring back at him is one he knows well- hell, it’s one anyone who’s ever paid even ten minutes of attention to the music scene knows. His hair is longer, his eyes colder, and he’s aged a few years, but there’s no mistaking it: sitting before him is Ben Solo, an acoustic guitarist that had disappeared years ago from right under the nose of the then-legendary producer Luke Skywalker.

“Are you satisfied now?” Ren spits, his voice surprisingly deep without the mask.

Ben Solo was one of those great myths of the music industry. Years ago he’d left in a huff one night from Skywalker Studios, after some kind of fight with Luke. He’d simply never come home. It was said he’d been murdered, or at the very least kidnapped. No one had ever come forth with a ransom and no one had ever been able to find his body, alive or otherwise. And yet here he was, sitting in Hux’s conference room 7, staring coldly at him with no small amount of contempt after _years_ of having been missing.

The secret of the singer of the Knights of Ren. Hux wondered who else knew this. Hux wondered if this was why Snoke was so creepily insistent on his giving Ren all his time – to keep this secret. Maybe this was the real reason Snoke had put him on this job; if there was something Hux could do easily, it was keep a secret. Was he able to keep this kind of fucked up secret, though? Why hadn’t Ben just called his parents when there was a manhunt on?

 _What if Snoke was the one who had kidnapped him,_ Hux realizes suddenly. _What the fuck am I getting into._

Hux opened his mouth to register his surprise, but his phone interrupted him. He glanced down to see Phasma’s name and stood up, sighing. “I’m sorry, I must take this. Stay here,” and he snatched up the phone and slipped out of the room in one quick motion.

“Hux,” Phasma’s obviously unimpressed voice says without waiting for a ‘hello’. “Care to explain the simply ludicrous series of texts I’ve just received?”

“Hello, Phasma,” Hux replies, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Are you in complete seriousness telling me that Kylo Ren is starting his own solo career and _you’re_ expected to manage him?”

“I am.”

“You’re the Vice President of the company.”

“I’m aware.”

“The Knights are self-sufficient.”

“Well, yes, but he’s trying to get away from the Knights, you know, with it being a _solo_ career and all.”

“What has this got to do with _me._ ”

“I need a favor. You’re not going to be happy with me. Are you coming to the meeting?”

“I’m not even in the city.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Phasma replies, annoyed. “I am _retired_ , you know.”

“I know that. But I need you here. You’re the only one I know that can pull this off, and if you don’t agree I’m left scouring the world looking for anyone who can hold an instrument and deal with this child.”

Phasma’s quiet for a long moment. She finally sighs. “I can be there in a- say, a week. I’ll bring a band, you bring the child.”

“Thank you,” Hux replies, desperately meaning it.

He returns to the meeting room, half-expecting the lights to be off or the helmet to be on again. Ren sullenly stares ahead, toying with his helmet as Hux takes his seat again.

“What was that,” Ren asks, voice completely deadpan, not bothering to look at Hux.

“A phone call,” Hux replies, unable to stop himself from being equally petulant. “I’ve made contact with a friend of mine. I’ll hopefully have a band for you roughly in a week’s time.”

“I don’t get to choose?” If Hux didn’t know any better, he’d say Ren actually sounded disappointed.

“Do you have anyone else in mind?” Hux asks, fighting the urge to be supremely annoyed.

“I can just play the instruments myself. I know how to play most of the things I’ll need.”

“On stage? What happens when you need to tour. Would you like your shows to feature  you, alone, running about and playing everything in bits and pieces? Do you want to waste precious time teaching random people how to play your songs every time you need to put on a show?”

“No,” Ren mumbles sullenly. He’s silent for a moment, playing with his helmet, and then he reaches into his robes, pulling out a wad of paper and half-assedly pushing it down the table, as if Hux is meant to walk down the table to fetch them. Hux doesn’t move. “These were the things I was thinking about. Songs, I mean. That I was working on.”

“What am I supposed to do with that?” Hux can’t keep the annoyance out of his voice now, and curses himself for it.

“Give it to her?” Ren replies with an equal amount of rage. “So she can work on it?”

“They’re your songs. _You’re_ going to tell _her_ how they go, not the other way around.”

“Fine.” Ren pulls the wad back towards himself, sneering at his own hand. “So I have to wait a week for her to pull her shit together before we can even get started?”

Hux snorts. “She’s been in retirement for over a year. I think she can take a week if she needs.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Ren hisses.

“How many songs do you have there.”

Ren stares at the papers, frowning slightly. “Seven.”

“Seven does not a good album make. Go home. Write more songs. By the time you’ve managed three more, she’ll be ready to hear them.”

“I thought this was supposed to be more-“ Ren grapples with the wording he wants, shakes his head. “I thought this meeting was supposed to get me somewhere.”

“You’re going to have to be patient.”

“I want an album out in time to tour for summer.”

Hux blinks. “That’s insane. That gives us- what, two months? Three?”

“Is that not acceptable?” Ren replies, his tone almost innocent.

“No, that isn’t acceptable. The amount of work that goes into-“

“I told the Supreme Leader I wanted to tour for the summer. He seemed amiable to the idea,” Ren interrupts, shaking his head. “I want to try.”

Hux stares at him for a long moment before finally shaking his head in reply. “I… I’ll talk to the band. Go home. Write songs. I’ll contact you when we need you.”

“Can we start recording next week?”

“Perhaps,” Hux replies, sighing. “We’ll try.”

 

Without a timetable to keep to, Hux is left wandering for the rest of the week. He tries to focus, tries to get the most he can without the band done; he’s able to block off an entire recording floor for Ren and his new band for as much time as possible, as well as begin contacting venues for possible tour dates, contact his friends in the art department for art and ads, research what Phasma’s band used to use as far as instruments were concerned. He wanted to have everything he could have as prepared as possible, dedicating his entire week to it.

The eerie lack of phone calls and emails only made him feel more uneasy about the entire thing, however, and his work ethic devolves somewhere around two days later, when he begins ceaselessly researching Kylo Ren and his creepy Knights. He googles everything he can think of- Skywalker Records, Ben Solo, the entire case, Snoke himself, the Knights’ real names. Most of what he finds is gossip rags, unfounded rumors and other unhelpful noise. What he finds helpful, however, he writes down:

- _Skywalker Records hasn’t recorded since Solo disappeared._  
- _No one was ever actually blamed for Solo’s disappearance but Skywalker was the obvious candidate._  
- _Solo’s mother is in politics now._  
- _Snoke only made it big once Skywalker was out of the way._

Curious, he thinks, and snaps his notebook shut.


	2. Chapter 2

**RUMORS ALREADY FLYING: _Kylo Ren quitting the band? Phasma coming out of retirement?_**

“Are you going to be here soon?” Hux asks the second Phasma answers her phone, without even bothering to say hello. This was common, between them; most of the time, Phasma didn’t even bother greeting him when she answered the phone, just waiting for whatever he was about to say.

“I’m ten minutes away.” She sounds much calmer than he feels.

“In traffic?”

“No, downstairs.”

“Oh. Good. Alright. Look- I’m not happy about this.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Phasma replies dryly. “You sound testy, General.”

“How many times-“ and Hux realizes his voice is raising, so he pauses irritably to tone it back down. “…do I have to tell people to stop calling me that?”

There’s a soft amused laugh. “You cannot tell me it doesn’t fit. Especially considering you’re the one who first called me Captain.”

“The connotations are despicable.”

“I’m sure he’s rolling in his grave.”

This comment is made in stereo, and Hux looks up to see Phasma strolling through his office, phone to her ear. She looks stunning, as always; it must be warm out, if she’s chosen a dress for the day. As she comes closer, Hux and Phasma both hang up their phones, staring at each other.

“Captain.”

“General.”

“Please,” he replies tersely.

“You complain like it doesn’t fit you to a T.”

Hux leans back in his chair, sighing. “As I said- the connotations.”

“What’s so terrible about following in his footsteps?” Phasma asks, lightly seating herself in the chair across from his desk. “Maybe you’ll be an Commandant too, when you’re all grown up.” She laughs at the pinched grimaced face Hux gives her, shaking her head. “I still think it’s cute.”

“You’ve only reminded me for ten years.”

They sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, Phasma sitting back and crossing her legs, Hux tapping at his computer. Finally he sighs, shaking his head.

“This idiot wants to have an album _and_ a tour before the end of the summer.” Phasma raises an eyebrow, saying nothing. “I’ve already booked from now until the beginning of August on one of the recording floors. I don’t know how long it will take. I don’t know why he wants to go so fast.”

“He must be desperate,” Phasma replies. “Trying to prove something?”

“Probably. He calls President Snoke _Supreme Leader_ , for fuck’s sake.” Phasma’s eyebrow lifts higher. “And they all wear their masks, constantly, in public or private. It’s rather disturbing.”

“At least they’re always good for a laugh.”

Hux snorts, rolling his eyes. “I wish. Our little Lord Ren is absolutely a child. I’m hoping you can help me keep him in line.”

“Sounds like a challenge.” Phasma’s eyes flash and she grins. “Shall we get started?”

 

Kylo Ren is calmly waiting for them in the lounge room of the recording floor Hux has set aside for them, sullenly staring at his helmet; he toys with it, balancing it in between his fingers, and his eyes flicker up to Phasma as she, Hux and her bandmates walk in. He doesn’t seem to recognize her, but Hux can feel her slowly take in a breath as she recognizes him. “Who is this,” Ren asks, not even trying to phrase it as a question.

“This is the frontwoman of who I’ve asked to be your band,” Hux replies smoothly, leaning against the wall as Phasma and her band take a seat on the couch across from Ren. “Her name is Phasma and her qualifications are more than enough for what you’ll need. She and her bandmates can easily learn any music you’ve written or help you develop the music you’ll need for your solo career to take off.”

Phasma looks down at her phone, padding the screen with a thumb, and there’s suddenly a notification on his phone: _Is this really Ben Solo, or do my eyes deceive me?_

 _Yes, that’s Ben Solo,_ Hux texts back. _At least I am fairly certain he is._

_He hardly looks any older._

_I know. It’s disturbing, isn’t it._

_I almost feel as if we should call his mother._

_Ah, yes. That would end SO well._

“Here,” Ren replies, pulling out the wad of papers and carefully peeling one off, tossing it unceremoniously onto the coffee table in front of him. Phasma picks it up and squints at it, frowning.

“This… isn’t exactly what you’re used to, with the Knights,” Phasma says carefully after a few moments of staring at it. Her bandmates shift uncomfortably as Ren stares at each of them in turn before going back to ignoring them completely. Hux raises an eyebrow at the entire party, standing against the wall and tapping at his tablet. “This isn’t even close to the same genre.”

“I know that,” Ren sniffs, clearly offended. “I wrote the fucking thing. Are you going to cooperate or not?”

“There’s no need for that tone of voice,” Hux cuts in, tone cold. “She is only concerned that you may not realize how difficult this can be. Changing genres when you already have a dedicated following can spell a death sentence for any good-intentioned band, let alone a front man gone rogue. You have to consider these things, in our line of business.”

“Most of this will never sell to the heavy metal crowd,” Phasma tells Hux, raising an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t planning on selling to them anyways, honestly,” Hux responds, looking Ren over. The Knight bristles, looking away from Hux, suddenly somewhat embarrassed. “It’s not exactly my style, anyways.”

“I just want to try something different. I’m not selling anything to anyone,” Ren mumbles, toying with his gloved fingers. Hux feels an odd stab of pity suddenly; he wonders if this _child_ has ever actually been out on his own, or if he’s always been accompanied by the other Knights. It’s certainly food for thought, not that he enjoys the prospect of having to delve into Ben Solo turned Kylo Ren’s tragic past. “Are you going to fucking help me or not.”

“Unfortunately, we are required to help you,” sighs Hux, walking forward and taking the half-smoothed paged from Phasma. He glances it over with no small amount of disdain. They look like they were written by a child, with crude handwriting that devolves into pure scribbling in parts. There are bars crudely written here and there, as if he’s been trying to devise the guitar parts on his own. The page is smudged and seems to have been folded in such a way that Hux wonders if Ren had been hiding these songs from someone. From what he can read, however, it doesn’t seem _so_ bad. Maybe a little flowery, and certainly more than a little pretentious. These sorts of songs always sell well to teenagers and the “emo” types, Hux reasons. Perhaps he can try that angle. Ren’s certainly got the face for it.

“These are all well within my band and I’s abilities,” Phasma replies, her tone pointedly unamused. “If I’m understanding where you meant to go with these bars here.”

“Good, because we need to start as soon as possible,” Hux replies when Ren doesn’t say anything. “I’m already thinking- perhaps a show, some morning or evening thing, maybe both. If we can have a few songs already well-rehearsed in, mmm, say… two weeks? Maybe three? We can start press.”

“That sounds like too much time,” Ren murmurs, but he’s ignored.

“Strike while the iron is hot,” Phasma says. One of the bandmates nods, the other pointedly not looking anywhere near Ren or Hux.

“Exactly.”

“The sooner we can begin recording, the better, especially if he’s married to this mad idea that he’ll tour in the summer.”

“I’m still right here,” Ren hisses. “Yes, I still want to.”

“That’s going to require dedication,” Hux replies sharply. “Long hours, lots of practice, constant working. Do you realize how difficult what you’re asking is?”

“Yes.” The simmering anger in Ren’s eyes seems to imply how dedicated he already is; he glares without flinching at Hux, meeting his eyes and straightening his back. “I understand what it means. I want to try and have an album out before the end of the year.”

“Most albums- and most matching _tours_ –tend to be released in the middle of the year,” Phasma cuts in quietly. “That only leaves us… perhaps three months to get everything together.”

“I understand that,” Ren snaps.

“Again, I’m going to insist that that is _insane_ ,” Hux replies, fighting to keep his volume down. “Practicing enough songs to make a decent show, on top of doing press and recording the album to begin with- you’re basically asking for three _long_ , impossibly hard months of constant work.”

Ren slowly leans back where he sits on his couch, folding his arms over his chest. He tilts his head back, regarding Hux down the bridge of his nose, and for a moment he almost looks like some displeased royalty who’s become tired of excuses. “I understand that,” he replies with a tight voice. “I have all the time in the world.”

“It’s… more feasible if we set the tour for the end of summer,” Phasma murmurs to Hux, who raises an eyebrow at her. “August, about. It’s doable, assuming everything happens nearly perfect. The biggest issue is press. I don’t know if we’ll have enough of a fanbase to justify a full tour.”

“He’s already got a fanbase,” Hux sighs. “And there are quite a lot of people within and without that fanbase who seem interested online.”

“I just want it fucking done,” Ren adds, as if either of them had asked his opinion. “Aren’t you supposed to be working for me.”

“We’re supposed to be working _with_ you,” Hux finally snaps, almost shouting, “and if you don’t drop this ridiculous attitude I’m going to go to your _Supreme Leader_ and tell him what little interest I have in helping you!” He hadn’t meant to get so loud, but he doesn’t care; he’s already had enough of Ren acting as if he’s the king of music and both Phasma and Hux should be bowing at his every movement. Ren almost looks stricken, clearly unused to having others yelling at him, and his cheeks color slightly. If Hux wasn’t mistaken, Ren was actually _embarrassed._

“There’s no need to speak to the Supreme Leader,” Ren replies quietly, in as close to a meek voice as Hux is sure he can get. “This is- new, to me. I expected it all to be different.”

 _He really does call Snoke the Supreme Leader. How odd_ , comes Phasma’s text.

 _I did warn you,_ Hux replies.

“That doesn’t give you leave to treat my clients and I poorly. We are going to work with you as best we can. We are going to try and ensure this works. Trust in that.” Hux sneers at him, turning to Phasma. “You seriously think it’s doable.”

 _He looks so young. He acts so young,_ Phasma texts.

“I don’t think it’s easy. I don’t think it’s wise. But yes, I think it’s doable,” Phasma replies, clearly unfazed by either man’s display. “As loathe as I am to admit it, I have the time, and my band and I will try our hardest to accomplish it, if that’s truly what your _lord knight_ wishes.”

Ren visibly bristles, but neither Hux nor Phasma give a shit. Both of Phasma’s bandmates look almost like they’re ready to run, glancing at each other, Phasma, Hux and the door in equal amounts and trying desperately not to catch Ren’s eye. It doesn’t seem hard; Ren seems to have entirely forgotten they exist.

“I think to say it’s unwise is to undermine what a terrible idea it truly is,” Hux sighs, shaking his head. “But- fine. I assumed you’d want to try. This floor is ours until August. Let’s see how far we get.”

 “We’ll get started immediately, then.” Phasma turns, looking at Ren full on; she raises an eyebrow at him, gesturing to the two men beside her. “This is Finn and Slip,” and she points at each man, who both look like they’d rather disappear than sit here in front of Ren. “Drummer and bassist, respectively. They’re some of my band, some of my best, and I expect you to treat them with the same amount of respect you give me.”

“Hi,” says Slip, smiling nervously. He drips the sort of desperate need to impress, though his very appearance- sloppy hair, sloppier clothing –is already a disappointment.

“Nice to meet you,” Finn murmurs. He doesn’t look even half as interested in being friendly as Slip does. His eyes are somewhat wide; he must recognize Ren’s face too, or he’s heard the stories about Kylo Ren trashing things. Hux can’t remember if he knows these two. They must have been the two she used in the last leg of her last tour, a good year or so ago.

“Are they actually your best?” Ren asks Phasma, ignoring them both. She levels him with a steady look that just screams _try me._ “Fine. Hello. I want to try and get the music worked out today for one or two of the songs, if we can.”

“Sounds good to me!” Slip replies, holding up a thumbs-up.

“Captain, are you sure about this?” Finn asks Phasma after leaning in towards her. Even with his voice hushed, he’s still somewhat audible. “This sounds like it’s… kind of, uh.”

“Insane?” Hux supplies, idly tapping at his tablet again.

“Yeah.” Finn gives an apologetic shrug, clearly embarrassed. Phasma nods.

“I understand your concerns, and I can assure you I share them, but I really do think we can manage this.” She pauses. “You’re welcome to back out at any time, of course, if you must.”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean. I just.. that’s a lot of work, that’s all,” Finn replies, leaning back in his seat and fixing a concerned look on Ren.

“Yes, it is,” Ren interrupts. “And I expect your best.”

 

As the band filters into the actual booth, Hux pulls Ren aside, grabbing him by the arm. Ren turns on him, clearly trying to convince himself not to immediately deck Hux.

“I will not tolerate this,” Hux hisses, his grip on Ren’s arm tightening. “You may be treated as a king with the Knights, but we are not impressed, and we will not put up with it.”

“Excuse me?” Ren replies, clearly pissed.

“Your holier-than-thou routine. It is _already old_ , and I will not have it. Do not test me, Kylo Ren. I will march straight to your _Supreme Leader_ himself and demand you be given a new manager and band overnight, if you do not get in line.”

“I understand.” Some sort of switch is flipped, and Ren leans away, suddenly quiet. He looks down. There’s something almost dead in Ren’s expression, like he’s somehow shut down.

“You will adhere to my rules, as I said before. I am not so desperate to obey the President that I will willfully sacrifice everything I have worked so hard for to protect or bow to what amounts to a child in a costume.” Ren’s cheeks start to color, but he says nothing, still furiously staring at the ground. “Have I made myself clear.”

“I’m not going to let them walk on me,” Ren snaps back, his head raising to meet Hux’s eyes with a petulance that rekindles the spark in his eyes; when he does, the color on his cheeks deepens and he looks away again. “But yes. I understand.”

“Excellent,” Hux replies coldly, flashing Ren a stiff smile.

 

 

Despite Hux’s warning, it’s a disaster for the next week straight.

If he’s honest with himself, it isn’t nearly as bad as it could be; the entire band does seem dedicated to making Kylo Ren’s vision work, even if it seems entirely insane. Phasma and her bandmates are always in the room practicing when Hux arrives at 9 promptly, and they all often stay in the studio until well after 7 or 8. Even Ren appears to be dedicated, though he punctuates almost every mistake with a shout, sometimes openly berating Slip, who constantly forgets his bars, until Hux shouts him down. They try to figure out the bars on the song, trying to work out the music, but with Ren’s rage and inability to actually dictate what he wants, it’s clear they’re getting nowhere fast.

By Friday, it seems less and less likely that they’re ever going to get anywhere. Ren is too scattered, too easily brought to rage that he keeps sabotaging his own work, which seems to make him frustrated and the cycle gets worse. He seems more and more agitated and distracted every day, and it starts to be too much for even hapless but always pleasant Slip to be able to ignore. By 1, Hux has to pull Ren aside for what has to be the 40,000th time, seconds before Ren explodes on poor Slip for what has to be the 80,000th time.

This time, however, he tries something new; so far, just straight scolding hasn’t worked, and Hux is beginning to feel desperate.

“Ren,” Hux breathes exasperatedly, “stop. Stop. Take a moment. Breathe,” he murmurs, staring up into Ren’s wide, furious eyes without backing down.

“I just want this done right,” Ren hisses in response, trying to glance over at Slip, notorious now for ruining jam sessions with dropped notes or entirely incorrect bars. “They’re not doing what I need them to do. And for the last fucking time that’s not my name.”

“You’re _a_ Ren, aren’t you? It counts as your last name, anyways, until you give me a different one.” Hux ignores the little growl Ren gives in reply. “You’re not giving them the right tools. I don’t know how it’s done with your Knights,” Hux replies calmly, using one finger to move Ren’s jaw so the man’s looking back at him instead, “but it doesn’t work like that here. Look at me. You’re not showing the right kind of effort. I know,” he has to quickly interrupt when Ren opens his mouth furiously, “how hard you’re working. I do. I understand how important this is to you. But you haven’t been giving them the right accompaniment.”

Ren stares at Hux for a long moment, parsing this. “Accompaniment,” he says quietly, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. Just shouting at them that it’s not right isn’t going to give them what they need to write your song. You do need to sing at some point, you know. The song’s never going to sound right until they hear you sing.”

“Sing. Right..” Ren glances off to the side, thinking on this for a long moment; Hux wonders just what goes on in that head of his, to make him so spacy and almost lost. Whatever consideration Ren’s taking, however, finishes very suddenly and he nods at Hux, face set and determined. “Sing. Hold on.”

Ren walks to the mic again, clearing his throat; the other band members all begin to rearrange themselves to prepare their instruments, ready for more berated orders, but Hux shakes his head at Phasma, and she lowers hers again. She pulls forward her stool, Slip doing the same, and Hux takes a seat behind the booth’s window. Everyone watches as Ren clears his throat again and swallows, closing his eyes. He takes a few deep breaths, shaking out his hands. The room is overly quiet as they all wait, but he ignores them all, waiting however long he needs before he can start.

His warmup is slow, just a few bars up and down or counted numbers here and there, nothing particularly spectacular; when he gets to the song they’d been practicing, however, he belts it with a conviction and skill that the room finds themselves fascinated. What he was before as Ben Solo shines through somewhat, that skill and range taught to him by masters, and his voice and energy is magnetic, to the point that even the technician sitting with Hux is mystified. Hux wonders where it all comes from, because never once did he display such a gorgeous singing voice with the Knights and he’d certainly never had a moment to shine like this as Ben Solo. It occurs to him, idly, that it might all be by design; perhaps Snoke is hiding Ren’s talent away to avoid anyone looking too deeply into it.

Ren sings the entire song without fumbling or stopping, never once opening his eyes. When he’s finally finished, he looks down, opening his eyes just to stare at the ground, cheeks pink with embarrassment. He doesn’t seem capable of looking at anyone else in the room as they stare openly at him; he looks up, slowly, to meet only Hux’s eyes and raises an eyebrow. “Like that?” he asks the mic quietly, the ghost of a smirk at the edge of his lips.

“Yes, Ren,” Hux replies, still exasperated.


	3. Chapter 3

**CAPTAIN PHASMA SEEN ENTERING FIRST ORDER RECORDS: _Legendary guitarist truly returned?_**

Naturally, things get much easier once the band knows what Ren has in mind for the song. For the next week, he cooperates fully; he sings for them every time there’s a moment of confusion or someone doesn’t like the way it’s started to sound, keeping his voice down as best he can. Every time he sings, he closes his eyes, even if it’s for only a few moments, as if he can’t bear to have his eyes open as he sings. Hux finds this curious but not enough to warrant asking why. He wonders if it’s a by-product of being trapped in the helmet all the time, or Ren has stage fright or anxiety or soething. He never seemed to have any issue when he was operating as Ben- but, then again a lot seems to have changed.

From Monday to Friday, everyone gives it their all, working upwards of 16 hours a day. Finally, the end of the week comes and everyone heads home, all content with the amount of work that’s been done. Even Ren seems high in spirit, content that they’d worked out so much on two different songs already. He gives Hux a short wave before he puts the helmet back on and leaves, a friendly gesture after a full week of just leaving without any notice of anyone else. Hux raises an eyebrow at him, and then at Phasma, who raises an eyebrow in response.

“He seems to be warming up to us,” she murmurs, leaning over his shoulder as he inspects the notes everyone’s made through the week. “What did you _do_?”

“Honestly, I just told him to do his job. I didn’t think it’d work _that_ well.”

“If only it were always that easy,” Phasma sighs, smiling at Hux.

When Phasma says goodbye and leaves, the last one to go, Hux finally collects all the notes and pulls his briefcase together. He stops by Susan’s desk to check for any notes she may have left for him, and then slips into his office. The First Order is used to working day and night to accommodate the artists’ whims, and while most of the staff runs normal hours, the kitchen staff and most of the gofers usually have someone on staff 24/7. He orders himself a nice meal, sits back and prepares for a long night of catching up on paperwork.

He’s past organizing the notes from the day, has started on answering emails and is halfway through his meal when the door locks electronically, the lights all dimming to black and the screen begins to fall, signaling Snoke calling. Hux sighs heavily. Always with this nonsensically dramatic bullshit, and the man couldn’t shoot a warning text or email or something? “It’s lucky I was in here,” he murmurs, before it occurs to him that perhaps Snoke knew where he was. He dabs at his face with a napkin, certain Snoke wouldn’t even be able to see it if he had sauce smeared full on across his face in this darkness, and stands in the way of the camera.

Snoke’s hideous visage flashes up onto the screen after a few moments. “General,” he booms in greeting.

“Sir,” Hux replies, tone as dry as he can possibly manage. “Good evening. I hope you’re …well.”

Snoke ignores this. “I am calling for my first check-in. I hope you have managed a good amount of work in the time I have given you. I know that my apprentice’s songs need help being… _listenable._ What luck have you had?”

“Astonishing luck, actually, President.”

“Is that so.” Snoke squints at the camera, clearly disbelieving.

“Oh, yes. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t capitalized on this before,” Hux continues smoothly. “With a voice like that, your _apprentice_ is sure to be a hit.”

“Well,” Snoke sniffs. “If you insist, General. I will wait to pass judgement until I have seen the spoils of your work.”

“Understandable, sir.”

“I wanted to speak to you about Kylo Ren. I recall giving you express instructions to accompany him everywhere.”

“..Yes, I recall,” Hux replies slowly. A cold feeling grips his stomach, something like fear or dread or disbelief. “Have I not been complying?”

“No,” Snoke snaps. “No, General, you have _not_. I have been told he is sleeping alone in his hotel room every night, and that you have let him continue this way throughout the entirety of your time together. Weeks, now, that you have left him alone.”

Hux is stunned. “Surely your instruction doesn’t bleed into his personal life? I was under the impression I was expected to ensure he spent his days with me, not that I would have to _babysit-_ “

“General!” Snoke shouts, silencing Hux immediately. “This _insolence_ will not stand!  I have ordered you, expressly, and you disobey my commands! I expect you to be at his side, at all times, regardless of your personal feelings- or I will be finding him a new manager, and myself a new Vice President!”

Hux is acutely aware Snoke expects him to bow, scrape, apologize. Correct the issue. Some form of disgust creeps up the back of his neck. “Your forgiveness, please, President,” he starts, swallowing. “I did not realize the extent to which you had meant. I will …correct my behavior appropriately.”

Snoke stares at him for a long minute, apparently gauging Hux’s penance. “Good,” he practically purrs once he’s decided it is enough, settling back down in his ridiculous chair. Hux hates him so much, but doesn’t dare lift the stony glower he’s giving the floor. “Good. Then I expect you will be interested in staying in his hotel room tonight, and all of his rooms throughout this agreement, until I instruct you otherwise. It is a suite, so you need not worry about space.”

As if space was what worried Hux. He suppresses a derisive snort and bows his head slightly. “Yes, President. Of course.”

“He’s a very delicate person, and he needs to be watched properly, to ensure he isn’t … hurting himself,” Snoke continues, though the awkward pause sounds unsure enough that the warning bells in Hux’s head are going full force. This is all so creepy, all so not okay. Hux wonders if Ren’s been living this way the entire time. “And I have the feeling he hasn’t been properly taking care of himself.” This is almost said like a sigh, as if Snoke’s trying to sound sad or worried. It just sounds annoyed, to Hux’s ears, as if Snoke can’t believe he still has to worry about Ren. “He needs to take his medication. I don’t think he has been.”

“I see,” Hux replies, to show he cares when he really doesn’t.

“I do hope you can keep him on track in these confusing times. I’m sure he feels lost.”

“I will do my best, President.”

“I expect nothing less. I will send you a bottle of his prescription; I expect you will find it easy enough to remind him to take them. I will call for another update soon, General. Do not disappoint me.”

Snoke hangs up on him, because of course he does. He always does. Hux stands in the darkness, listening to the soft mechanical whirring of his office setting itself back in order, and the loud click that signals his door has been unlocked.

There is a problem here, and Hux needs to get to the bottom of it. He stands in place for a long moment, trying to put his thoughts together.

Throughout the weeks they’ve been working together, Kylo Ren hasn’t been the most pleasant person, but he also hasn’t been the veritable tornado of destruction everyone reports him as. He’s quiet, almost shy, and obviously very uncomfortable about himself and his abilities. He’s got a short temper but he tries to keep it under control. He seems eager to change and learn new music styles. He can’t look at anyone when he sings, and he doesn’t feel comfortable showing his face. He gives off the sort of energy one might expect from a beaten dog being shown kindness. These are facts, things Hux has witnessed.

What didn’t add up was everything else. Ren’s accompanied by other band members from the Knights of Ren, and he calls them his security detail. He insists Snoke is some _Supreme Leader_ and apparently allows the man to control his entire life, threatening others with Snoke’s influence like a weapon. He’s the missing child of a legendary manager and her equally legendary producer brother hasn’t made a single piece of music since Ren’s disappearance. And all this time, he’s been hiding in plain sight under an ugly mask that stifles his abilities.

Even worse: now Hux has to be partially complicit in whatever horrifying life situation is going on here. He wanted to stay apart, and he took great pains to try and have his disinterest go unnoticed, but Snoke is forcing his hand. Making him stay in the same rooms and threatening him with his job. Asking him to give the man pills of some unknown origin for an unknown affliction. Tasking him with keeping Kylo Ren inside some invisible lines Hux hasn’t been shown.

This is all too much. It truly is.

Hux packs his briefcase, gathering all his things and placing them almost too slowly in it as he thinks. Apparently Ren’s being watched, if Snoke knows he hasn’t been sleeping in Ren’s hotel. How deep is that, anyways- phone tapping? Keeping someone else in the room? Some twisted private-eye situation where an unknown has a room across the street and keeps tabs on Ren’s every move? Maybe the same methods are being used on Hux. His lip curls as the annoyance hits a fever pitch. He can’t even believe it’s come to this: paranoid delusions being the most believable reality, thanks to Snoke’s overbearing obsession with whoever works for him. Hux wonders if even poor Susan has to deal with the lizardy bastard.

He’ll have to deal with this. But he’ll need to be careful. He has to do this and do it well, all while having his insubordination fly right under Snoke’s nose without detection. The question still stands, however: what even is there to deal with? What is he up against? What is he trying to stop?

When Hux pulls his office door open, balancing his dirty plates and briefcase in one hand and texting his chauffer with the other, he finds a man standing there. More accurately, he finds a Knight of Ren standing there, one he doesn’t recognize as either Ren or the two who had come with him before. The masked man pulls the plates out of his hands and replaces it with a bottle; Hux manages not to yell or lash out, standing perfectly still in his discomfort and disbelief. How long has this man just been standing here, waiting for him to come out?

“Vice President,” the man says, his voice heavily modulated by his helmet. “I’m here to escort you.”

“I don’t need a fucking escort,” Hux snaps. “I need to return to my apartment and collect my things, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“The Supreme Leader-“

“The _Supreme Leader_ has already given me my orders. Trust they will be done, and that you can come and _collect_ me should they not.” Hux shoves past the Knight, furiously stalking towards the elevator; he hears the man pause, turn, begin to follow at a quicker pace. Where does Snoke find all these men, honestly. Does he just shoot for easily-controlled and overly-large? Maybe it really is a cult, and this is the effect of Snoke’s particular brand of Kool-Aid.

Hux makes it into the elevator alone, the Knight not far behind; he levels his stare at the man, leaning over and pressing the force-close button multiple times. The doors are responsive, closing before the Knight can reach him, and Hux jams a floor number as quickly as he can. As the elevator starts to descend, he swears he can hear the Knight trying to force the door open.

 

Hux’s elevator comes out on a random floor.

He’d meant it to, of course; if one Knight was waiting outside his office, he could only imagine how many of them were milling about in the lobby, waiting to _escort_ him to his new prison cell. Snoke’s thug-booted little army. How fitting. If this was how Snoke was used to running things with the Knights, it was no wonder Ren wanted out. This was no band, this was a series of distractions hiding a militant force in plain view.

Hux slips out of the elevator as if he’s still meant to be there. This is the First Order, after all, and he is still Vice President, as far as he knows. He won’t be frightened out of it by Snoke’s Knights. There’s no one on this floor, however, and he abandons the cool, straight-backed walk for something faster. Striding anxiously past the series of cubicles that characterizes one of their customer service floors, Hux winds his way to the stairwell. He’s only a few floors above the ground floor, but there’s no guarantee the Knights aren’t watching everything.

Then again- there are only seven Knights, to Hux’s knowledge. He does the math just as quickly as his feet fly down the stairs. There’s one upstairs, probably on his way down via elevator, but the stairs are faster and he won’t be able to get down to the same floor Hux is on in time. Ren’s another, and he’s probably got one watching him. Four, then. Three, if he’s lucky and Snoke needs one nearby, which wouldn’t be surprising. The lizard looks older than the Earth itself.

When he reaches the ground floor, he pokes his head out of the door first. The stairwell is only accessible down a darker hallway, one that branches off the main lobby, conveniently tucking Hux away from prying eyes. He doesn’t see anyone, or hear any of the damn voice modulators they all seem to have, so he steps out and trots down the hall as quickly and quietly as he possibly can. No one in the lobby, either. Curious.

His chauffer is waiting patiently right outside the building, and a quick glance at the man makes it clear that he’s okay. Maybe Snoke had only sent the one, with the expectation that Hux would quietly allow it. “Home, Mitaka,” Hux mutters as he slips into the backseat. “And quickly, if you don’t mind.”

As they pull away, Hux notices the Knight stepping out from the elevator and into the lobby, furiously looking for him. The ease of his deception gives him no small satisfaction, and he wonders being chased will continue. The idea infuriates him.

The drive back to his home is blissfully uneventful. As always, Mitaka is fast and quiet; probably the best chauffer he’s ever employed, honestly. When Hux bids him to come in, he does without hesitation, falling in step behind Hux as if he belongs there.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you a favor for the next… however fucking long I’m trapped in this nightmare with the Knights,” Hux sighs as they walk, throwing his briefcase and the bottle of pills he’d still been tightly clutching onto the table. Millicent seems to notice he’s home, as he can hear the weight of the cat as she jumps off his bed upstairs and runs down to find him. “Apparently I need to stay with Kylo Ren for the foreseeable future, because should I not he might explode.” Hux rolls his eyes at Mitaka, who flashes him a small, tight smirk. “I’d appreciate it if you could feed Millie, make sure to water my plants. I don’t know how often I’ll be able to stop by the house in-between everything.” And then there the cat is, meowing at him angrily for being gone so long. He smiles down at her.

“I understand, sir,” Mitaka responds.

Hux doesn’t dare pick Millicent up, for fear of getting cat fur on his clothing; she’s content to rub across his legs, circling around him as he moves through the house. “I’m not sure I will be allowed your services, as I’m sure the President will be pointedly ferrying me from place to place in the meantime, but rest assured you will still be paid your normal wage. Make sure you write down how often you’re here. You’re welcome to the food; someone should probably eat it before it all spoils.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Just treat this as if I’m out of town, all right? The only infuriating difference is I’ll be just a few miles away.”

He manages to pack himself a decent bag, ordering Mitaka to bring him fresh clothes every three days to cut down on the clutter. He takes a quick shower, packing his bathroom essentials while drying his hair. Everything takes about an hour, and then he’s back in the kitchen with Mitaka to fetch his briefcase.

When he touches his briefcase, he notices the pills beside it. Taking the bottle in hand, Hux examines it, opening the cap and looking at the pills. There’s no label, and he’s never seen these sorts of pills before. How curious.

“Here,” Hux says, tapping three of the pills out into a small bag and handing it to Mitaka. “You know who to take this to, yes?”

“Of… course, sir, but I don’t understand,” Mitaka replies hesitantly, peering at the little pills.

“I need to know what these are, what their purpose is. I’ve been asked to ensure Kylo Ren takes them and I want to know why.” Hux pulls his bag and briefcase together, shoving the pills in his pocket. “Tell her not to text me, I’ll want the results in person.”

“Of course.”

“Now.” Hux sighs, annoyed, and pages through his phone to find the email he’d been sent a week ago, with the hotel and room Ren was supposed to be in. “I need you to take me there.”

 

The look on Kylo Ren’s face when he opens the door can only be described as panic. He doesn’t really emote much, but his eyes widen and he immediately looks at the ground, clearly having not expected Hux’s arrival. “Hux,” he says finally, when Hux raises his eyebrow.

“Hello, Ren.”

Ren notices his bags, taking a step back and blanching. “Oh, no. No, no. Don’t tell me he sent you here. You’re not- you aren’t _staying_ , are you?”

“I’m afraid so,” Hux murmurs, observing this reaction with some interest. It seems perhaps Kylo Ren isn’t so interested in conforming to the Supreme Leader’s will, after all. Interesting. “He’s asked that I stay with you for the duration of our work together.”

“You can’t do this. Please, go home, you don’t have to stay here.”

“He’s threatening my job, Ren. It’s here or out of the First Order.” Hux steps forward, cocking his head. “Trust me, I want this even less than you do. But I don’t relish the idea of losing my job because I didn’t want to sleep in the same room as you.”

“No, you don’t understand, _being here_ -“ Ren starts, but cuts himself off, turning away. He keeps his back to Hux for a full minute. Hux hears him swallow, hard, before he turns back around, face still ashen but his emotions seemingly scrubbed away. “..You’re right. It’s fine. As the Supreme Leader asks.”

Hux steps into a lovely suite, though it’s clearly been lived in for a week; it’s more than large enough for both of them, with a small kitchenette to the right of the door that looks into a somewhat large sitting room with a flat-screen bigger than his own and two sets of French doors on either side. One of the sets is thrown open to show the ultimate disaster of Ren’s bedroom, with clothing everywhere and his bed unmade. Hux wanders to the second set, noticing the large glass doors that lead out to the balcony in Ren’s room as he passes.

The bed in the other room has clearly been untouched, and he doubts Ren even so much as opened the doors. With the light on, he sees he too has a door to the balcony, and another flat-screen television on the wall to his right; there’s also a small dresser beside his bed, with a lamp on it, and a door into a small bathroom that has only a toilet and sink. The shower must be in the other bathroom, presumably connected to Ren’s room. Damn his luck.

He drops his things on the bed, turning on the lamp beside his bed. The clock on his phone shows it’s almost one in the morning, and he curses under his breath. Turning, Hux finds Ren staring at him through the doors and across the room, apparently having been waiting for Hux to turn the entire time.

“I’m going to bed,” Ren says, voice barely audible from his mumbling. He’s staring at Hux, but his eyes don’t seem to quite see the man, or are perhaps focused just to the side so that Ren looks as if he’s staring at Hux but isn’t quite looking at him. “Sleep well.”

“Ren, wait. I wanted to talk to you about-“ but Ren ignores him, turns into his bedroom and closes the doors without looking at him.

It’s tempting, so tempting, to bang on the doors or barge into the room and demand answers, but Hux lets it lie, and after an hour of letting the same forty questions bounce around his head, he finally falls asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**NO WORD YET FROM KYLO REN – _It’s been weeks- former frontman getting cold feet?_**

The next morning, he wakes to a phone call. It’s unusual, to not have his alarm clock beside him; he’d entirely forgotten to set one on his phone. “Susan,” he murmurs into the phone, groggy, as he forces himself to sit up. “What…. Time is it?”

“It’s 937, sir,” Susan replies without skipping a beat. “I have a call that I wanted to patch forward for you. This woman says she’s the scheduling manager for a late night show.”

“I see.” Hux tries to clear the sleep out of his throat, leaning against the headboard and wishing he were still dreaming. “Okay. Thank you. Put me through.”

“Hello?” comes a light and inquisitive voice.

“This is Aloysius Hux,” he replies, surprised at himself for somehow managing to sound at least somewhat professional. “I’m told you have a proposition for me.”

 

When he comes out of his room, fully dressed and as well-prepared as he can be with half a bathroom at his disposal, Hux finds Ren is avoiding him. This is impressive, he decides, considering they’re sharing the same room and would have to work with each other the rest of the day. The kitchen looks like a tiny disaster, with boxes of cereal sitting on the counter instead of in the cupboards, but save for a single cereal bowl that looks recently used, Ren seems to be quick at doing his dishes. That, or he’s just reusing the same bowl over and over again. Hux makes a mental note not to accept food from him.

There’s not really anything more to eat in the room, and he decides he’d like a better meal than cereal or orange juice or sunflower seeds, so Hux texts Susan to order him breakfast from the kitchen. Then, he walks slowly towards Ren’s door, as if to avoid disturbing him, though Hux cannot for the life of him understand why he’s walking so carefully. It isn’t as if they don’t have somewhere to be. After a moment’s (ridiculous, to Hux) hesitation, he finally raps his knuckles once, twice, three times smartly on the door.

“Ren?” he calls. No answer. “It’s almost ten-thirty now. We need to be going, we’re already late.”

Nothing. There doesn’t even seem to be movement.

“Ren, we need to go work on recording.” Silence. “I am concerned about your current state of being and would appreciate if you would reply.” Hux thinks he hears a rustle, but is more certain that he’s just imagining sounds where there are none. “Please don’t make me come in there.”

After a full minute of waiting, Hux opens the door; sitting on the bed is Ren,  with his back to the door, fully dressed. He’s holding his helmet in his hands, which Hux only notices because Ren keeps passing it from hand to hand. Hux sighs irritably, annoyed he’d been so concerned.

“If you’re ready, Lord Ren,” Hux says, unable to keep the annoyed mocking tone out of his voice. “We need to go to work.”

“I know.” Ren’s voice is so quiet, Hux can barely hear him. He seems to say something more but it’s inaudible, and then he slips the helmet on and stands. “Let’s go, then,” Ren says, voice dull and toneless even through the modulation, and stalks towards and past Hux and for the door. Hux glares after him, frustrated; but they’re leaving, now, so work can finally be done.

As he expected, there’s a car waiting downstairs for Ren. The drive is silent and awkward, clearly unused to having Hux there, but Hux doesn’t care. He uses the time to catch up on what little emails Snoke allows through, noting that Susan has texted back that his food is waiting for him. Ren sits completely still, not caring to look out the window or seemingly even breathe. His fists are clenched tight and resting on his knees, which is almost enough to make Hux nervous. Ren’s energy seems beaten, or perhaps subdued, on the verge of being angry. Hux wants to ask him about the medication, but the risk of the driver overhearing them is too great.

Phasma, Slip and Finn are all already in the studio, where they’ve been practicing. Hux waves at Phasma slightly through the glass, sitting behind the technicians.

“Are you all ready to begin recording?” Hux asks, and all the musicians give him a thumbs-up; behind them, Ren is removing his helmet and the tunic and belt he wears as part of his costume, pulling his hair back and preparing for a long day. “Excellent. I’ll leave it to you when you’d like to begin. Before you do, though, I do have an announcement. I wanted to let you all know I’ve been contacted by the scheduling manager of The Late Late Show and she has offered us a small set.”

Behind the others, Ren straightens very slowly, turning just enough that Hux can see the side of his face.

“I told her we would be honored, and that we would like to do it soon. I hope this is acceptable to the rest of you. I feel as if it would be a fantastic opportunity to begin putting together some excitement, and we could announce the record and the tour on the show.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Phasma replies. “It sounds like the perfect opportunity.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty great,” pipes up Finn from the back.

“Ren?” Hux asks. “Would you like to?”

“I would,” Ren replies slowly after a moment of silence. He’s incredibly hard to hear, and as he turns to face Hux, eyes firmly on the ground, it’s clear that he’s not keen on raising his voice. “But it needs to be done carefully.”

“I’m interested to hear any ideas the four of you have for costumes and that sort of thing. We need to start creating the sort of stage presence we’d like to have, both in the tour and otherwise.”

“I want my mic stand,” Ren replies.

“Oh,” Hux says. That was easy.

“The one I use with the Knights, specifically. It lights up.”

“We don’t want to have too many parallels,” Phasma replies before Hux can. “If we look the same as the Knights, people might assume we sound the same and not bother looking into our songs.”

“That’s true,” Hux interrupts when Ren opens his mouth to argue. “She has a point. But, I think having the mic stand might make a nice bridge for the old audiences to the new. That it might give them something they recognize. It could set him apart from the Knights permanently.”

“Ah, that’s true,” Phasma nods. “As for costumes- I usually wear silver, when it’s just us.” She gestures at the band. “I think if Ren will be black and red, they could be white and black instead.”

“Would you still be silver? Only you?” Hux asks.

“I would prefer to be, at least. I understand if it’s not quite in line with the aesthetic.” Phasma casts a quick glance at Ren, who raises an eyebrow. “With my band, I’m clearly the one in charge.”

“That’s fine,” Ren murmurs, waving his hand dismissively.

“What else? Masks?” Phasma asks Hux.

“No, I don’t think so. I want everyone to be able to see your faces; the less of the gimmicky over-involved costumes and matching pieces we have, the better. This is your show now, Ren. You’re the one we need to highlight.”

“I don’t want masks again, anyways,” Ren replies quietly.

“We could _all_ be silver,” Finn says, after the room has been quiet in thought for a moment. “The silver would be good. We could have white lights, if he really wants us lit up.”

“That might be good.” Ren looks up at Hux, finally, apparently forgetting his beaten dog persona in the excitement. “They don’t have to be lit, but if they all match- silver and black, white and black, whatever, they’ll make a better contrast to me.”

“What kind of clothing are you interested in wearing?” Hux asks.

“Nothing too involved, actually. As much as I enjoy the armor, it gets.” Ren pauses, realizing how many negative things he has to say about the armor; he tries to condense it and fails, sighing and starting over. “Armor’s too hot on a stage. It’s too heavy, too. I can’t move much and if I do I look like an idiot. It doesn’t belong in the sort of band I’d like to have here.”

“Okay,” Hux replies. “So what would you like, then.”

“I want..” Ren grapples with this phrase, as if he’s never really been asked it before. Hux hates himself for noticing. “..I want simple. I want to put feathers in my hair and have on clothing I can move more easily in. I don’t want to wear gloves anymore- maybe black jeans and boots, bracelets, I don’t know. The others- as long as they fit whatever color scheme we have, I don’t care if they wear their own clothing. We don’t need a gimmick. They don’t need to be exciting. They don’t have to be fancy, they just have to match.”

Hux realizes as Ren talks that he’s never actually seen Ren without the gloves on. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he’s never seen Ren out of the horrible armor get-up he always wore with the Knights. He’d seen Ren in various stages of it, such as stripped down to the undershirt, but even that covered most of Ren’s body, and he’d always had on gloves. Even last night, even with all the clothing in the other room, Ren had still been in a dressed-down version of the same choking clothing. Hux opens his mouth to reply but loses the words, closing his mouth and looking down again.

More questions. More things to unravel and work through. He didn’t sign up for this shit. It wasn’t his job to be anything more than Kylo Ren’s manager, and he didn’t even sign up for _that_.

“Well. We’ll have to figure it out before we go, then,” Hux finally says, and he and Ren and everyone in the room knows he’s copping out, but they could all ask him if he cared and he wouldn’t even dignify it with a question. “We do need to get to work, so- shall we?”

As the band practices and warms up together, Hux sends Susan a text. _Please email the President’s office and ask if they wouldn’t mind giving us Ren’s mic stand._

_Of course, sir,_ comes the quick response.

_Thank you, Susan. Tell them we’d be grateful to have it. I think it could make this entire operation smoother._

Satisfied, he scrolls through his emails, watching the band as they play.

 

It’s not perfect, and it’s not fully edited, but it’s recorded: the first single of Kylo Ren’s new band is finished. Hux, the band and the tech all listen to the best version of the song they’d spent all day recording and rerecording. It sounds good, they all agree. Finn looks pleased with himself, and Slip of course is nervously excited; Phasma’s joy is more serene, while Ren actually looks.. happy. Joyous, even. There’s a flash of something like hope in his eyes.

“I’d like to play that on the show,” Ren says, after everyone has given their opinions. “I think it’s good enough to warrant being our first release.”

“I agree,” Hux replies, “though we don’t exactly have the time to work with another one. It might be better to play this now and release it the night of, as a single, to make sure that whoever’s interested can have it.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Phasma responds. “Are we done for the night?”

“Yes, I think so; thank you for your hard work tonight, everyone. You’re free to go.” He turns to the technician. “Thank you again, Matt. You’ll have this edited tonight?”

The tech nods. “I’ll have it ready by tomorrow morning.”

“Excellent.”

There’s a bit of an awkward silence once everyone else is gone, as Ren quietly puts on the rest of his armor and Hux reorganizes his briefcase. All of the notes are dumped in, and his phone and tablet, and when he looks up Ren is waiting uncomfortably by the door.

“I thought I’d just wait for you,” Ren mumbles, toying with his helmet. “Since we.. are technically living in the same place.”

“I appreciate it,” Hux replies, striding towards Ren. “I wonder- what would you say to having dinner with me tonight? I’m starved and I’m not exactly keen on any one of your 20 different cereals.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Ren moves to put the helmet on, and Hux just lets him; he doesn’t want yet another fight about how the terrible office peons should never see his precious face. “I do still have cereal,” comes the modulated response. “I don’t usually eat much else.”

“I noticed. That’s why I’m saying let’s go and have real food, for once.” They head towards the elevator, and Hux checks his watch. “It’s not too terribly late yet. We have the pick of the city, honestly.” Ren stays uncomfortably silent until they’re well in the elevator and on the way down. Hux sighs, irritably. “Is that a no, then?”

“No, no, I just…” He shifts. “I didn’t know.. how to say that I don’t have any money.”

“What do you mean, you don’t have money,” Hux replies with a dead, bland tone.

“Snoke takes care of everything for me. He… thinks I can’t be trusted with it because I’ll waste it all online or something.”

“So anytime you need food or clothing or something, you have to ask him.”

“…yes,” Ren replies with such a quiet, timid voice that it almost just becomes static through the modulator. “I know. I try to get him to let me have some, but he insists it’s for the best.”

“That’s _insane,_ Ren.” Hux sighs. “It’s fine. I’ll pay for you; I was planning on doing it anyways. You ought to try having a chat with him about a debit card.”

“He doesn’t trust me,” Ren mumbles. “We’ve had the fight before.”

“Hm. How old are you?”

“Hux.” His voice is louder, raised in desperation; it seems Hux may have struck a nerve, so he holds up a hand.

“Relax. I’ll let it go if you’d like. I just find this all very odd.”

“It’s how things have been for a long time and it works for me.”

“You didn’t look very happy to see me last night.”

Ren is silent for a long moment. “… It usually works for me.”

“Fine,” Hux sighs. “This conversation bores me. Where would you like to go to eat?”

“I don’t really care. I don’t—“ his voice starts to sound anxious, uncomfortable. “…know any of the restaurants around here. Hux, I… I’d rather just go back to the hotel.”

“Oh.” Feeling oddly crushed, Hux looks away, nodding. “Very well. I’ll just go myself, then.”

 

“Okay, first order of business: mic stand,” Hux starts the mini-meeting two days later, after a full day of practicing. He was in a decently good mood, after the work they’d managed to complete that day and the day before; the show looming over their heads the next day seemed less and less likely to fail. “I’ve received word from President Snoke, and he says the mic stand is allowed. He’ll be sending it tomorrow, and it should be on set when we get there. From then on, it’s our responsibility, so we’ll have to make sure we have someone there who knows how to pack it.”

“I can borrow one of my roadies,” Ren pipes up, leaning against the wall in the back of the room. “I’m sure the Knights won’t mind. They’re not touring without me.”

“Okay,” Hux replies, ticking that off the list on his tablet. He squints at the list of things, trying to decide what to pick next. “Mmm. Costumes. We need to decide what we’re wearing. With so little time now, I think it’s unlikely we’ll be able to put together much more than simple outfits, preferably matching.”

“About that.” Phasma shifts where she’s sitting on the couch, gesturing at Slip, Finn and herself. “We all have matching clothing already. We’ll be fine, so long as silver doesn’t put Ren off.”

“I don’t care,” Ren replies, shrugging. “Silver’s fine. I thought we’d decided all this already.”

“There’s a difference between what we want overall and what we want for tomorrow’s show,” Phasma replies. “I had another idea, as well.” She pauses, trying to find the best way to word her suggestion; glancing up at Hux, she raises an eyebrow in such a way that he realizes she’s uncomfortable. “I think,” she starts slowly, “that the Knights have been famous for a long time. And I think that the reveal of their frontman is something that should only be treated with the utmost care and to the utmost effect.”

Hux understands her immediately. _We can’t blow this_. _We have to reveal him when there’s no longer a way to stop us, Ben Solo or not, not a moment before._ He purses his lips, nodding. “That makes sense. I don’t know how we’ll keep him a secret at the show, though.”

“I’ve seen some interesting dark-lit gigs before,” Phasma replies, cutting off Ren’s noise of distress in the back of the room. “Where the singer is covered in darkness, backlit by a full complement of spotlights on the band in the back. You often can’t even make out the shape of their face that way- I think that would help.”

“I thought we were trying to get _away_ from the Knights,” Ren protests, cutting Hux off. “I thought this was supposed to be about me.”

“It is, Ren,” Hux sighs, a little exasperated. “That’s just the point If we reveal you too early, it won’t have the full effect.”

“I don’t want to wear the helmet anymore,” Ren murmurs, voice dangerous, as if he’s threatening them without saying a word. “You _know that._ Not on stage. I don’t want to be in the armor on stage.”

“You won’t be. That’s the point. We need to cover you without it, _because_ we’re pulling away from the Knights.”

“You can’t sing with that damned thing on, anyways,” Phasma interjects. “The light should keep you safe.”

“But if someone notices me?” _Notices who I am?_ is the obvious undertone. _Notices Ben Solo is alive and well?_

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Ren. Relax.” Hux rolls his eyes, looking down at Phasma again, who’s face is pulled into a slight grimace. “I think the light idea is good. I think the silver outfits will help distract from him too. We should put Ren in all black, to heighten the effect.”

“I’m sorry, why are we hiding his face?” Slip asks, shushed immediately by Finn.

“Effect,” Phasma says shortly.

“Oh,” Slip responds.

Hux stares at Ren, anxiously tight and clearly hiding some level of fury where he stands. “Would you be willing to wear the armor, then?”

“I would rather not,” Ren repeats, voice as tight as his body. “You know the mic stand lights up.”

“Can we adjust the light?”

“I ..yes, I think so, but the very top doesn’t light up, either.”

“So we’ll make sure it’s not too bright and leave it at that,” Hux shrugs. “If they can only see the bottom of your chin, they won’t be able to tell who you are. It’ll be fine. If it’s not, we’ll replace it before the show. I’m sure they’ll have us do a few rehearsals. We likely would have been all week if I didn’t think we needed more time to practice here.”

“You may have to wear the mask during the rehearsals, though,” Phasma intones gravely, her grimace deepening. “I would rather not have to worry about the cast and crew taking photographs of you.”

“That…” and for a brief moment Hux worries Ren’s about to explode, that Ren is going to refuse, but- “that’s fair,” Ren mutters, nodding, seemingly deflating where he stands. “That would be best. We don’t need to worry about my makeup; we can ask for a separate room for me to prepare in, and I can fix my own hair and things.”

“That’s a good suggestion,” Hux replies, keeping as much of the surprise out of his voice as he can. “What do you want instead of the armor for this show?”

“…Tight black pants. And I’d like maybe something sleeveless.”

“Very well. That’s easy enough. Do you already own an outfit like that?”

“I do.”

“Just bring that, then.” Hux taps it into his list of reminders for the next day. “Finally- Matt has finished the mix of the song, and sent it to me. If we okay this, it will be dropped tomorrow night after your performance as a single. As of right now, the only cover art we have is a black box. Thoughts?”

“The mic stand,” Phasma replied. “As it’s his stand-alone symbol from the Knights.”

“Ren?”

“I agree,” Ren murmurs, nodding. “That’s fine.”

“Very well. Shall we listen?”

Hux sets his tablet down, tapping to the music app and loading it. He sits back in his chair, listening to the final- he hoped –mix of the single. It was almost like night and day from the Knights, with Ren’s voice displayed first and foremost, clear and strong and emotional. The band played extremely well, even Slip, and Hux even found the song a bit catchy, even after all the practice they’d had.

He glances up at Ren, to try and gauge the man’s reaction; he finds Ren staring at the floor, eyes slightly watery, as if he’s trying not to cry. When it ends, Ren swallows hard and swipes at his face, looking up to meet Hux’s eyes.

“That’s good,” Ren says gruffly. “That’s fine.”

Phasma nods. “I like it,” she says, looking at her band. “What do you think?”

“That’s awesome,” Slip replies awkwardly, grinning at Hux, who raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s good,” Finn adds, smiling at Phasma, who replies with a small smile.

“So we agree, then,” Hux says, pulling his tablet back towards himself. “I’ll tell Matt that’s the one we’re releasing. Unless anyone else has something to say, I think that was my last note?”

The band shakes their head and says their goodbyes.

“Don’t do anything stupid tonight, everyone,” Hux calls at them as they leave. “Tomorrow’s our first performance. Be prepared to work all day.”

 

On the way home, Hux notices Ren’s odd silence. He seems withdrawn, pulled away from everything; it’s almost like Hux is appearing at his door again and demanding to be let in. He doesn’t seem to want to meet Hux’s eyes or even look at Hux at all, staring at the floor as he walks and the buttons on the elevator panel. When they finally get to their room, Ren disappears into his own side of it without much ado.

Hux keeps to himself as well; he finishes some emails and paperwork from the day, and then collects his shower things and goes to knock on Ren’s door. Before his fingers even touch the wood, however, Ren calls to him.

“What.”

“I need a shower.” This wasn’t the first time that he’d had to borrow Ren’s bathroom, and there’s a quiet agreement between them that Ren won’t impede him and keeps the bathroom as clean as he can. There’s an awkward moment of silence before Ren calls again.

“Fine.”

Hux lets himself in and moves towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Ren is sitting on his bed, back to Hux; there’s no sign of whatever he was doing beforehand, and Hux wonders if Ren was just sitting here in silence. He takes a quick shower, thoughts on tomorrow’s gig, and comes out fully dressed to find Ren still facing towards the glass doors, shoulders silently shaking.

“Hux,” Ren murmurs in a huff, his voice heavy with tears.

“Ren? What is it.”

“I …don’t think I can do this,” he whimpers, his voice barely audible. “I can’t do this. Tomorrow’s gig-“

“Oh, Ren,” Hux sighs. “You’ll be fine.”

“I won’t sound anything like the single. I sounded so… good, so nice, and I won’t sound anything like that on that stage.” Ren’s voice breaks and his shoulders begin shaking more obviously; he’s clearly sobbing now. Hux shifts uneasily where he stands, hair still wet and his shower items in his hands.

“Uh,” Hux tries.

“The Supreme Leader doesn’t believe I can do it. He thinks I’ll fail, and I think- I think he’s right, Hux. I can’t do this.”

“How do you know this.”

“I talked to him, this evening. He doesn’t seem convinced. He asked me to come back, if I could, and-“

“You’ll be fine,” Hux finally snaps. “You can’t base your entire self-worth off of what the _Supreme Leader_ thinks. He has no idea how you’ll go over, and for the record I feel you’ll do perfectly.”

“But I’ve never done anything like this before-“

“That doesn’t mean anything. It’s not unlike any other show, Ren. You’ll do fine.”

Ren turns, peering at Hux over his shoulder through weepy eyes. “Thank you,” he nearly whispers, sniffing.

Hux nods, suddenly uncomfortable by Ren’s openness; he shifts, moving for the door. “You’re welcome. Now get some rest.”

 

"It’s a cross,” Phasma says lightly as they wait for their turn to play. The day had been full of practicing, blocking, timing, lighting, and other preparations for the show, and now the band simply had to wait. So, of course, Hux thought with no small stab of annoyance from where he sat in the corner, they had to bicker.

“It’s not a cross,” Ren spat back at her, glowering. “It’s a _sword_. It’s a broadsword. That glows.”

“And the way it’s set there, it looks like a cross.”

“It does kinda look like a cross, yeah,” Finn adds. “I’m surprised you haven’t gotten any noise from any religious groups.”

“I _have_ ,” Ren responds irritably, throwing his hands in the air. “They’re usually more preoccupied with the idea that we’re selling _demon music_ than the burning red cross in my hands.”

“I’ve heard they say you hide behind it to mask your deeds,” Hux pipes up, drily, despite himself. There was just something he thoroughly enjoyed about riling Ren up.

“It’s a _sword!_ ” Ren bellows, and equally despite herself, Phasma grins.

“Hey everyone,” a techie interrupts, sticking his head into the door; everyone tenses, but Ren’s back is to the door, actively obscuring his face. “You’ve got five minutes before you go on.”

“Thank you,” Phasma calls, and the band begins to stand, collecting what they need. Ren puts his helmet on. “I’m sorry, Ren, I just don’t see how a _broadsword_ of all things could exist and be a functioning weapon with a circular blade.”

“It’s not _supposed_ to be circular, that’s just the only way the _lights_ would work,” Ren growls through the modulator as they start down the hall.

“Well, that’s just a bald-faced lie,” Phasma replies, sniffing. “You could have easily made it flat.”

“They told me they couldn’t. That it would look more impressive the way it is now.”

“You mean, looking like a cross?” Phasma asks, her voice filled with the purest innocence.

“It’s-“ Ren starts to yell, but Hux puts up a hand, furiously glaring over the band.

“Hush,” Hux hisses. “Unless you want this _idiocy_ to distract everyone on the bloody soundstage.” Finn looks away, trying not to laugh. Phasma seems perfectly still, but Hux can see the tell-tale shaking of her shoulders- she’s laughing, he realizes. Ren stares at the floor furiously. “Perfect,” Hux sighs. “Thank you.”

The show goes as well as it could have, just as practiced: the band takes their places as silently as possible while the host announces them to the crowd. Ren waits until the lights behind him have gone up, obscuring him in darkness, before he takes his helmet off. Every note is sung perfectly, played perfectly save for Slip now and again; every beat is hit on time, and the band all seem to give it their all. Hux watches on from backstage, a little entranced by just how _different_ it seems. He’s seen this song practiced a hundred times before, heard it done to death but now- now it’s a song he’s interested in hearing. Now, with Ren’s odd chemistry blanketing everything around him, Hux’s eyes are drawn to the band, his attentions entirely captured.

When the song finishes, Hux blinks, disoriented somehow. He wonders where that charisma comes from; he certainly hasn’t seen evidence of it in Ren before. Ren announces that the song will be available to download at midnight EST and that they’ll be dropping a record and having a tour in the summer; the band bows to the crowd’s cheers, and Ren scoops up his helmet and replaces it on his head. They shuffle into the backstage, and Hux nods.

“Right,” he says. “There’s an after-“

“I have no interest in the afterparty,” Ren interrupts, deadpan.

“I thought the three of us might go,” Phasma tells Hux, gesturing slightly at Finn and Slip.

“That’s fine,” Hux replies, nodding. “Ren and I will just go home, then. Have fun, you three.”

“Is there anything else they need us for?” Phasma asks.

“I don’t think so. You might want to oversee the breakdown of the set, but other than that- I haven’t been told.” Hux shrugs. “Enjoy your evening. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“Noon seems a safe bet.”

 

In the car, Ren is uncharacteristically silent again, the type of consuming silence that covers everything around him. Hux wonders where that energy comes from, how Ren’s so quick to manipulate it, how he seems to change the world around him without realizing. If Hux had to guess, he’d say Ren is- worried. Afraid he didn’t do well enough. Afraid his efforts will be for naught. Afraid no one’s going to like his song.

Hux leans over. “You did well, Ren.”

“You think so?” Ren asks, his voice so low the modulation almost makes it into wordless static.

“I do. Wait until the song’s had enough time to get some attention,” Hux murmurs. “In a week’s time, I’m sure we’ll know exactly what everyone thinks of your performance.”

It doesn’t even take that long. The next morning, Hux receives an email that the song’s already broken a few thousand downloads. By noon, they’re in the top ten best-sellers. By five, they’re number one for the week, having taken all of one day to make it. Hux stares at the numbers when the band packs up after rehearsal, uncertain he’s reading them correctly.

The second Hux and Ren return to the hotel, Hux turns on the television. News stations are mentioning their performance from the night before; entertainment stations are breaking down the costumes and aesthetics; gossip stations are trying to pick apart just who Kylo Ren is and why he’s carrying Captain Phasma around as backup. Ren looks shell-shocked from all the attention, and excuses himself from the living room, disappearing into his bedroom. Hux watches it for a short while, flipping idly through stations until he can hear Ren crying again.

“Ren?” Hux calls, knocking once on his bedroom door.

“I’m fine,” Ren calls back. “I’m just. It’s just.. overwhelming.”

“I told you they’d love you,” Hux replies, and leaves Ren to it when he hears a short laugh.


	5. Chapter 5

**KYLO REN APPEARANCE A HIT – _Voice of an angel, but what’s his face look like?_**

“What,” Snoke bellows, “was _that._ ”

Hux can’t believe his Monday is already starting so poorly. Downstairs the band is practicing, but of course he had to be pulled away to watch Snoke’s spittle tremble on his ruined bottom lip. Ugh. “What do you mean, sir,” Hux deadpans.

“That _performance_. That _song._ You call that _music?_ ”

“I call that an overnight hit,” Hux replies calmly. “As does the internet, the entire entertainment industry, and the pure number of downloads we’ve received over the different programs. Shall I pull them up for you, sir?”

Snoke glares at Hux, like his eyes might suddenly shoot lasers and blast Hux’s head off. “That was not what I trained him to do.”

“It must have been, because I certainly haven’t taught him to sing.”

“Who wrote the song.”

“He did.”

“Did he,” Snoke sneers. “Was he lip-synching?”

“He.. No, he was not.” This annoys Hux more than he’d like to admit, considering how much genuine effort Ren had put into all of this; he grimaces at his own reaction, shifts where he stands. “Sir, if you don’t mind- I am doing exactly what you’ve asked me to do. He’s an overnight sensation. He’s on the fast track to get a record and tour out before the end of summer, let alone the end of the year. He’s working hard, every day, to ensure his success.”

“I am not seeing the progress I would prefer.”

“I honestly don’t know what to give you besides what we already have,” Hux responds, shaking his head. “I feel we’re performing admirably.”

“Have you been giving him his medications?”

Hux can perfectly picture the untouched pill bottle hiding in the bottom drawer of his hotel bedroom’s tiny dresser. “Of course,” he lies.

“Have you,” Snoke replies, clearly unsure. He looks Hux over, raising an eyebrow. “Very well. I expect more, General. Soon.”

The second he hangs up, Hux’s phone buzzes in his pocket. “What now,” he growls at it, pulling it out as he strides down to the band’s practice room. The email’s from Mitaka: _Our contact knows the answer, wants to meet Thursday._ The message is followed by an address that Hux recognizes as a local café. He rolls his eyes. “What is this, a fucking le Carré novel?” he mutters to himself, and slips into practice.

Despite Mitaka’s nonsense and Snoke’s obviously misplaced bias, the week continues on. The work is constant, which Hux is grateful for; between approving and contacting venues for the tour to working out the kinks of stage design and costuming. He approves request after request. Susan forwards as much of his emails and calls as Snoke will allow, certainly more than before now that Ren is a hot item, and he finds himself talking more outside the recording studio than he does within it.

The managing woman from the show is delighted to have had them, and calls to tell him so. She tells him their ratings were incredibly high and that she would like to schedule them again as soon as possible; he thanks her and insists he’ll call soon. Shortly afterwards, another scheduling manager calls and asks for a Saturday night booking instead on a famous comedy show. Despite his reservations, he agrees and schedules it for the next week.

Luckily, Phasma seems to have everything well in hand. Without Hux in the room, she manages to keep the band on track. They have the bare bones of three songs worked out by Wednesday, despite the constant differences that often come with Kylo Ren. Hux wonders if he might have to buy her a lovely gift card for all her hard work.

Even Ren seems to be in a good mood. “Hux!” he calls as Hux heads towards the elevator at the end of Wednesday. “I wanted to- uh. To ask you something,” he murmurs, leaning towards Hux with a small smile.

“What is it, Ren,” Hux replies boredly, tapping at his tablet.

“I thought.. maybe if you wanted to go out to dinner still,” he says awkwardly, toying with his helmet before slipping it onto his head. “But I still don’t know the city very well. You’ll have to choose.”

“Fine, I’ll choose.” They step into the elevator together, and Hux presses a button, pausing for a few minutes. As they get closer to the lobby, he adds, “but- we’re going back to the hotel, first, and I’d like it if you took that costume off and wore something normal.”

“The Supreme Leader-“

“I know what the Supreme Leader says, but if you’re coming out to eat with me you can’t be wearing that thing. No one knows what Kylo Ren looks like without his trusty helmet and costume, you know, and if you’re wearing one half someone is bound to recognize you.” Ren struggles with this for a moment, before sighing. He’s obviously starting to get frustrated with Hux, but doesn’t want to say anything. The elevator doors open and Hux begins to stride out into and across the lobby, shrugging. “You’re the one who asked me, Ren.”

“Fine! Fine. I’ll change.” Kylo huffs again, easily keeping pace with Hux. Those huge boots of his make such a racket; even if he’s only about three inches taller than Hux is, he’s got a larger presence, and after a moment Hux almost feels like he’s trying to catch up with Ren instead. “I don’t like this. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“We could just go back to the-”

“I _said_ I would fucking change!” Ren bellows, and Hux stops dead in his tracks, furious.

“Don’t,” Hux breathes, his quiet voice barely at normal volume, “you _ever_. Yell at me like this again.”

Ren is taken aback, leaning somewhat away from Hux; he seems to deflate, timid suddenly. “I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”

“Good,” Hux replies sharply, and resumes walking.

 

For a man who only ever wears some hideous burlap “armor” in public all the time, Kylo Ren has a surprising amount of clothing. Hux sits on the edge of his own bed, watching from across the hotel room as Ren steps into the doorway of his bedroom with a new outfit every few moments, trying to decide what would best fit him for his first public appearance, as if it were anything more than just dinner. Out of the armor, he’s no less imposing; his shoulders are still broad, his arms clearly heavily toned, and he still towers over everything around him, though he seems to shrink himself instinctively, hunching forward and looking more at the ground than at Hux.

Most of his clothing is wildly unmatched. Half of it is easy to see from across the room, neon colors and prints that walked straight out of the 80s. The other half is predictably dull and drab, with black V-necks that are thin enough to see the pale skin beneath every time Ren moves. He comes back to black jeans over and over again; the way they cling to Ren’s hips and legs make them distracting, but Hux doesn’t mention it, trying to ignore both them and the thought of his skin being so creamy and pale. Ren puts on some black v-necked sweater with a hood, pulling up the long sleeves just so that they rest over his wrists, and the same damn black jeans. He gestures at himself, and Hux raises an eyebrow.

“What,” Hux deadpans.

“What do you think,” Ren spits at him, clearly trying not to lose his temper. “I’ve put on forty fucking outfits and you haven’t said a word.”

“I wasn’t aware you needed my approval.”

"You’re the one who invited me,” Ren spits, stalking out of view again. “Excuse me for wanting to dress to your specifications.”

“With all that… nonsense you have now, Ren, you’re nowhere near my specifications.” Hux stands, sighing, and walks over to Ren’s doorway, leaning in. Ren’s not facing him, glaring instead out across the city, arms crossed over his chest. “That sweater is a bit thin.”

“Do you want me to change it.”

“No, it’s fine. Just put something under it.” Hux glances over the mess of Ren’s floor; all the discarded clothing he’s modeled for Hux is heaped across it, apparently with no rhyme or reason to color or type. Hux sneers, stepping carefully into the chaos, and looks over the strewn clothing with a careful eye. “This,” he says, plucking a black undershirt from the wreckage. “Or even, this,” and he pulls up a matching undershirt, this one bright red.

Ren musters a half-turn, looking at Hux over his shoulder, silent. Hux raises an eyebrow, holding out both the undershirts in one hand. Ren seems to weigh his options, before finally giving a long, petulant sigh and snatching them away. “I thought this would be acceptable.”

“It is,” Hux replies, cocking his head. “Just a bit thin. It does get cold at night, you know.”

“I don’t mind the cold.”

“But I mind you coming down with something because you refused to dress properly,” Hux sighs, waving a hand at Ren. “Put one of them on and let’s _go_. You’ve already wasted enough time.”

Ren glowers at Hux but does as he’s told; he turns away, as if shy that Hux might see his bare chest, and pulls off the v-neck in one quick motion. Hux can’t help himself for watching. Ren’s body is tight and muscled, moving like a well-oiled machine, and Hux wonders what Snoke has Ren doing that resulted in such a physique. Perhaps the man’s just naturally gifted, though he looks like he’s carved out of marble. Even his scars look like they’re meant to be there, curving delicately over his shoulders or down his ribs. As he dresses, Hux realizes Ren’s hands look soft, his fingernails trimmed and painted somewhat messily, as if anyone would ever notice the care he’d taken with his gloves always on.

Hux glances away, suddenly embarrassed by how much he’s noticing. Ren doesn’t seem to have noticed his staring, too busy putting on the red undershirt and quickly replacing his v-neck sweater. “There,” Ren breathes, turning back to face Hux. His face is somewhat pink, the clear beginnings of a blush curling around his cheekbones. “How’s that.”

“Perfect,” Hux replies, flashing Ren a tight smirk. “Let’s go.”

 

The grand Italian restaurant that Hux chooses is one of his favorites in the city; if he’s going to be dragging this giant diva of a man out with him, he might as well enjoy the food, despite the company. But something in Hux wonders if there’s perhaps more to Ren than he’d originally assumed. A man who’s lived through as many odd twists and turns as Kylo Ren, who was probably originally known as Ben Solo, must at least have some interesting stories, let alone whatever personality he hides behind that ugly mask. If Hux can get him to open up, anyways.

But that’s what alcohol is for, isn’t it?

Hux orders them a small appetizer of calamari while Ren glances around; the room is a converted ballroom, complete with high domed ceilings and crystal chandeliers that light everything in a soft orange. He looks terribly nervous, one hand absent-mindedly rubbing at his arm as he stares at everything and everyone around them. Hux raises an eyebrow, watching him with what he hopes is exactly the right amount of _what the fuck are you doing_ , but Ren doesn’t seem to notice. When the wine comes and Ren glowers at the waiter as if the man himself will light the table on fire, Hux finally sighs and leans forward.

“Ren,” he hisses, trying not to let their neighbors hear him. “What. Are you doing.”

“What?” Ren replies, somehow startled. “I’m just looking around.”

“You look like you expect someone to come up out from under the table and murder you. What the hell’s gotten into you?”

Ren blushes very slightly, the tops of his cheekbones frosting themselves pink. “I didn’t- I just don’t eat out often,” he mutters sullenly, looking down at the table. “I don’t go out often.”

“I noticed,” Hux sighs, leaning back again. “You’re frightening everyone around us. Relax. No one’s going to murder you for having dinner.”

“What if someone recognizes me?” Ren hisses, leaning forward onto the table. “What if I’m seen?”

“You’re being _seen_ as some mental man ogling everyone as they’re trying to eat their penne,” Hux replies drily, raising an eyebrow. “Lean back. _Relax_. Try ordering something that sounds good. You might even enjoy it.”

Ren glowers down at his menu instead, not moving from where his elbows rest on the table; it makes him look ridiculous, craning his head into his chest to read what he can from what’s obscured by his own shadow. “I don’t know what any of this is,” he finally says, leaning back again and looking sheepish. “I shouldn’t have come out with you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Look-“ Hux lifts his menu, originally untouched as he knew exactly what he would be ordering before they’d stepped in, with two deft fingers. He flicks it open, held in his hand easily, and peers at the names. “What do you usually like?”

“Cereal,” Ren mutters petulantly.

Hux contains an entire shuddering sigh, swallowing it down with a slight sip of the crisp white he’d ordered. “Christ, Ren,” he says instead. “At least pretend you’re a grown man and tell me what you like.”

Ren scowls at him, nose wrinkling in a way that could even be described as _cute_. “Fuck you,” he spits. “I’m older than I look.”

“But you’re not acting it,” Hux sneers. “Did you bring your ID?”

“I, uh. Yes?” Ren replies, cocking his head, the question catching him off guard.

“Do you want a drink?”

Ren stares at Hux for a long moment, not sure how to react; slowly, he takes the drink menu from the middle of the table, staring down at it awkwardly. “I don’t want you to spend too much on me,” he finally mumbles. Hux raises an eyebrow.

“Call it an investment. I’m feeding you now with the expectation-“ and Ren’s head shoots up with an odd look on his face, “-…that your music will be worth the expense. What is that look for?”

“Nothing,” Ren mutters, looking down at the menu again. “You must have a lot of cash, anyways.”

“I don’t discuss my monetary worth; I find it tasteless.” Hux sniffs, taking another sip of his wine. “But yes, put shortly- I have a ‘lot of cash’.”

“Hn.” Ren silently reads the menu what has to be five or six times, and when he looks up and grimaces, Hux cocks his head. “I …think I know what I want, but it’s… embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing.”

Ren’s cheeks blush slightly. “Yes, just. Mmn. I don’t…”

“What do you want?” Ren hands him the drink menu, leaning over the table to point at a champagne drink made with fruit juice. “Ah. I’m not going to judge you.”

“I …just feel awkward ordering it,” Ren replies, and he hunches slightly in his chair, as if he’s trying to make himself look smaller than normal. It’s a hilarious vision, this gigantic man hunched down in such a way, in his tiny little chair. Maybe he’s hoping he’ll just phase through the floor somehow, or shrink himself into oblivion. Hux rolls his eyes.

“Fine, I’ll order it for you. What food would you like?”

It takes Ren a good ten minutes to decide what to eat, but Hux is patient. There seems to be an odd social disconnect somewhere here; he wonders if Ren is always stuck inside hotel rooms, eating cereal and not letting his face be seen. It seems a dreary existence at best. When he finally points out a tomato-based soup with seafood in it, Hux nods. “You don’t have to order for me,” Ren mumbles into his menu.

“I don’t mind. Pull out your ID, the waiter’s coming.”

The waiter places the calamari on the table and Hux orders his favorite- angel-hair pasta in a Parmesan cream sauce with scallops –before he orders Ren’s drink and cioppino, and a side of garlic bread. Ren eases up again when the waiter leaves again, sipping at his water and peering at the calamari.

“What’s this?”

“Squid,” Hux replies unceremoniously, delicately plucking one of the rings off the top. Ren wrinkles his nose again, ever so slightly. Hux snorts. “Try it. The sauces are delectable.”

Whatever Hux expected out of Ren’s eating habits, this wasn’t it; after the first bite, Ren practically downs the whole plate, excitedly trying the three different sauces in different combinations. He chatters about it while he does, urging Hux to try one or two of the mixes; when Hux does, he’s surprised to find Ren’s managed to make the flavors stand out more, mixing in ways he hadn’t expected to enjoy. When the drink comes Ren hardly flinches, too distracted by his calamari magic.

“You must spend a lot of time alone,” Hux says after watching Ren for a long few minutes. “You don’t seem to enjoy being out in public.”

“It… I haven’t been out much since I came to apprentice with Snoke, no. He prefers if I keep to myself.” Ren shrugs. “I don’t mind. It’s easier if I’m alone.”

“Oh?”

“I… mmm. I have an anger issue,” Ren replies meekly, leaning back from the now empty plate and staring sheepishly at his hands. “I’m sure you’ve noticed. It’s just easier if I’m alone. I can’t hurt anyone if they’re not there.”

“And does Snoke say this?”

“No. He keeps trying to get me to have someone in the room with me. I think he’s worried I’m too much of a hermit.” Ren flashes a grim smirk down at his hands. “Unfortunately, it looks like you’re my next _victim_.”

“Victim, hmm.” Hux snorts, sipping at his wine. “I don’t have any plans to become anyone’s victim.”

“I only ever lose it when I have someone staying with me. I can usually keep myself together when I’m alone.” Ren sips at his own drink, wrinkling his nose and inspecting the glass. “Hm, that’s… not at all what I expected.”

“Is it good?”

“I think so. I, uh.” He sips it again. “I like the cherries.”

“Is there a reason you, ah. To use your terminology, lose it?”

“I… don’t know. I don’t know, honestly.” Ren shrugs, glancing out into the dining room again. “I know I have an anger issue. I try …not to hurt anyone. I try not to lash out. But sometimes it’s just impossible not to. I start losing sleep, I start having trouble eating… It only ever happens when I’m staying with someone. If I keep to myself, everything’s okay.” He toys with the edge of his napkin, still folded around his silverware; Hux watches him carefully, taking mental note of every little emotional shift, every little quirk. What is normal for Kylo Ren, he wonders. Ren sips at his drink again and shrugs. “It’s like earlier. I snapped at you.”

“You yelled at me.”

“Yeah. I know. I’m sorry. I …sometimes, I think he sends people to me to fail,” Ren sighs, rubbing at his arm uncomfortably. “I’m some kind of horrible career killer. No one can handle me and he knows I can’t handle living with people, so he.. sends them to me and waits for the explosion.”

“And you don’t suffer because it adds drama and mystique to your Kylo Ren persona,” Hux murmurs, raising an eyebrow as he thinks to himself. This was something he’d considered, directly at the beginning; Ren was supposed to be the knife in his back, and he’d refused to let anyone see him bleed.

“Yes. I …never get a chance to apologize, or fix anything. They’re there one night, and I have a breakdown- and then I wake up and it’s like they never existed. They’re just gone, all their things, their connections to the band…” Ren sighs, shifting uncomfortably. “I …can we change topics.”

“Of course,” Hux replies smoothly, flashing Ren a little smile. “What would you rather talk about.”

“I don’t really have anything.”

“Can I ask you some questions?”

Ren gives him a dubious face, clearly unsure, but nods. “…I guess.”

“Are you Ben Solo?” Whatever color was in Ren’s face immediately drains out. He stares at Hux, eyes wide, looking like an animal that might bolt at any second. “Relax, Ren. I’m not going to tell anyone.” Ren glances away, and Hux leans across the table, lowering his voice. “Look. I am your manager. It’s my job to ensure that your career goes perfectly, without any more of these little public disaster hiccups. This will work much easier if I know what secrets I have to hide.” Ren shifts again, staring down at his hands. He moves just slightly, apparently fidgeting with his fingers. “You need to be able to trust me.”

“Yes,” he finally replies, with a gravity Hux didn’t think he was capable of. “I was.”

“Aren’t you still?”

“Ben Solo is dead,” Ren murmurs, looking straight up into Hux’s eyes. “He was murdered, don’t you remember?”

“Is that why he won’t let you leave without your mask on?”

“Yes.”

“Why all of this? Why not just change your name publicly, make a show of it?”

“To prove a point,” Ren replies, his voice even softer. “To show my mother the power he held over me. To ruin Skywalker’s career. The Supreme Leader- to say he loathes my family is to undermine the sheer volume of absolute hatred he holds for them. He insists my uncle ruined his life. Everything he has now, everything he’s built, was purely to spite my family, and I was the tool he used to do it.” He pauses, running a finger around the rim of his glass. “I’m sure they know where I am. They just can’t… do. Anything. They can’t prove it.”

“What…” Hux leans back again, mystified. Snoke hated Skywalker? How was this the first he’d ever heard of it? “Why does he hate them so much?”

“Snoke used to be a producer,” Ren replies, picking at his fingers again. He pauses to take a large gulp of the fruity champagne drink, apparently steeling himself. “You can’t tell him I told you this.”

“I’ll take it to my grave.”

“I hope not.” Ren stares at Hux with the face of a man who isn’t kidding, and Hux feels an odd stab of panic in his stomach. “He used to be a producer, like my uncle. He was famous. Renowned. People would travel the world to meet with him and get his advice. But… his practices were often, ah… criticized, for being too …extreme.”

“And your uncle began to rescue his poor wayward ‘apprentices’, didn’t he.”

“He did. Using my grandfather’s label, which… Snoke raised my grandfather to superstar status.”

“Your grandfather.”

“Lord Vader.” Hux had heard of Vader before. He was still being played on the radio, having been considered a classic for some time.

“So Snoke trained your grandfather, Lord Vader, and he became famous.”

“Yes. Snoke and his then-apprentice. And he was supposed to train my uncle too, but I don’t.. know what happened. I know that my uncle trained elsewhere, under the radar. And when he returned, my uncle.. he convinced my grandfather to leave right before the end, and then he started to ‘save’ Snoke’s other students. He made all of Snoke’s students even more popular than they ever had been under Snoke, and then he convinced half of them to come out of their silence about his mistreatment. Skywalker Records were the fall of the Darth Plagueis label, and he’s never forgotten it.”

Darth Plaugeis. Hux had only heard of it in passing, never thinking to look deeper into it. It was one of those labels that was notorious for some reason, but one would have to go through newspapers from the 70s and 80s to learn the full story, and even then it wasn’t guaranteed. Not to mention, Hux hardly had the time to waste on something that might not pay off. He sipped at his wine, shaking his head.

“Ren, I don’t mean to undermine your story, and I don’t want to seem as if I don’t believe you- but that sounds like a fucking _soap opera._ ” Ren colors slightly, glancing away. “Your grandfather was made famous by Snoke, your uncle ‘saved’ him from Snoke’s apprentice after training in some mysterious circumstances, Snoke’s spent his entire life building this collection of record companies to legendary status just to make your uncle suffer for it… This is insane.”

“I know that. I’m just telling you what I know. And it’s not like I realized it, not until it was too late.” Ren takes another deep swig of his drink, grimacing slightly. “He’d insisted he only wanted to help me become famous in the way I wanted, the way I thought I deserved, and that wasn’t going to happen with my uncle. I hated him, hated my parents, and when Snoke said ‘come with me and I’ll give you what you want’… it… seemed too good to pass up.”

“How did he talk you into faking your death?” Hux asks, voice incredulous.

“He didn’t. He just. I just couldn’t leave, and I thought it was because I was training for so long, that I was working so hard that there wasn’t time… I just.. I didn’t know I was missing. When I found out, I confronted him, and he told me it was the only way to be reborn as Kylo Ren.”

“Why are you still here?” It still sounds so unbelievable. Hux simply can’t wrap his mind around it.

“I’m comfortable,” Ren shrugs. “I’m comfortable here. He keeps me fed. He buys me clothes. I usually get my own room and I can keep to myself. And I have sold-out shows because everyone on this planet knows my name. It’s not… bad. I’m not unhappy.”

Hux leans back, staring at Ren, who picks at his fingers and doesn’t look up. “That’s incredible,” Hux finally says, not sure what else he can say. Incredible, and dangerous. Whatever he’s dealing with now, it’s more than certainly meant to dispose of him. Kylo Ren is supposed to be digging his grave, and the closer he gets, the more difficult it will be to avoid being buried. Hux finishes off his wine, swallowing hard, and opens his mouth to say something- but he’s interrupted by the busboys and waiter bringing their food.

His wine is replaced, and Ren is given a new cocktail, and they tuck in to dinner. Hux eats slowly, despite his hunger, trying to parse everything he’s been told. He wonders if Ren’s mother even knows he’s alive, if she really has put the pieces together. She’d used to be a famous manager, known for her skill and dedication; he would have been lying if he said he didn’t admire what he’d heard of her. He wonders if Ren’s uncle is still in the city. He wonders if he’s going to be a ghost story someday, too; another odd, fantastical footnote in the shadow of Kylo Ren.

No. Absolutely not. Hux refuses. He will survive this as he does everything else: by tearing into it with his fingernails and landing with some grace.

Ren eats the soup like it’s the first food he’s had all day, hunching over it and devouring it quickly, one of the pieces of garlic bread in his hand every so often to sop up the broth. He cleans the mussels easily, sucking on the shells and leaving a neat stack of them in the extra plate he was brought for the discard. By himself, he manages to finish most of the bread; most of his cocktail and the entire plate of soup is gone before even ten minutes had passed, and Ren looks up, staring at Hux’s half-finished dinner with a raised eyebrow.

“Is it good?” he asks, voice somewhat husky. Hux glances up.

“What?”

“Is your dinner good.”

“Oh. Oh, yes. It always is,” Hux murmurs, picking at a scallop. He needs a plan of action. He needs a survival tactic. “Are you satisfied?”

“I think so. This place is pretty good.” Ren glances around again, licking his lips. “I should stop with the cocktails, though. I think I’m starting to get tipsy.”

“Do you get tipsy often?”

Ren laughs. “Oh, no. I don’t really _do_ anything.”

“No drugs?”

“Not really, no.” Ren shifts, cocking his head. “I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t… yknow. Anything else.” He pauses, toying with a fork. “I don’t …want to lose control.”

“That makes sense.” Hux pauses in twirling some pasta onto his fork, glancing up. “I was told you take medication sometimes. Will drinking interfere with it?”

“What? I don’t- oh.” Ren blanches again, shaking his head. “I don’t… really take anything, no. I…”

“So what’s the bottle of pills I was given, then?” Hux replies coolly, taking the bite.

“It… I don’t know. What are they?” Ren swallows, toying with his cocktail glass.

“Snoke tells me I need to be administering them. He says they’re to help you be healthier.”

“Those. Oh. I don’t… know what those are. I only know that I have to take them when I’m …misbehaving, in Snoke’s opinion.”

“Misbehaving.”

“When my roommates complain, I’m assuming. When my anger’s too obvious. I think it’s supposed to help.” Conflict flitters over his face, and Ren bites his lip. “I haven’t… been bad, have I? Been a bad roommate?”

“No. I haven’t complained.” This sounds terribly fishy. Hux lays his fork down, raising an eyebrow. “Have you ever been to see a doctor for this?”

“No, not really. No one who prescribed anything. I don’t think I’ve been to a doctor for anything in years, and when I get sick, they usually come to me. Snoke’s doctors, I mean.”

“I see.”

“You’re not…” Ren toys with the glass for another few minutes. “You’re not going to have me take them, are you?”

“I don’t have any interest in giving you something when I don’t know what it is, what its purpose is and when you haven’t been prescribed it,” Hux replies neatly, sipping at his wine. “He’s made no attempt to be honest about their purpose, and so I’m not going to give you something I’m not absolutely sure of.”

“That makes sense,” Ren murmurs, the relief in his voice palpable. “I…” He swallows, suddenly uncertain of himself. “Could you please tell me? Before it gets bad enough. Just… don’t tell him until you’ve told me what I’m doing wrong. I want to try and fix it.”

“I think I can do that.” Hux sighs, picking at his dinner a bit more. “I think I’d like dessert. Don’t you agree?”

Ren pauses, apparently gauging to see if Hux is telling the truth; he smiles suddenly, a wide genuine thing that makes Hux smile too. “Oh, fuck yes.”

Watching Ren trying to decide on a dessert is an actual delight. He describes the desserts to Hux in detail, wondering aloud how they might taste; Hux feels a stab of annoyance, but it’s quickly swept away at Ren’s boyish exuberance. He lets Ren talk him into some chocolate cocktails, curious to see how the liquor would taste. Hux orders himself a cheesecake slice and a dark chocolate and raspberry cocktail, while Ren orders tiramisu and some white chocolate and cherry disaster in a cocktail glass.

“Look,” Ren says excitedly, pointing at the glass when it arrives. “They’ve drizzled cherry syrup on the inside.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Hux replies, shaking his head. “That’s sugar and alcohol, nothing else.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” Ren grins, taking a sip. Again, his nose wrinkles, and Hux realizes he doesn’t just find it cute- it’s actually attractive. He feels himself smirk. Disgusting. “Oh, God,” Ren says. “That really is just sugar and alcohol.”

The more he drinks, the more that his face blushes, and by the time dessert’s over, Ren’s face is pink and he’s actually _giggling,_ clearly drunk. Hux pays for their dinner and helps lead Ren to the car, as he mutters catty things about the people around them in Hux’s ear and giggles. Despite himself, Hux smiles too, even laughing once. In the car, Ren tries to convince Hux to go and get doughnuts, leaning too close, his hand on Hux’s thigh.

Hux leans into him, despite himself. Perhaps he can let loose tonight, he thinks. Perhaps he can bed this wild, weird man, mark _international superstar_ off his bucket list for the third time and _literal soap opera_ off for the first. This close, Ren actually smells good, despite the liquor; he smells like masculine deodorant and some kind of flower, with coffee and alcohol on his breath. Hux leans closer to him, their faces a hair away. Ren giggles again and leans back, embarrassed.

“I love your hair,” he slurs as the car pulls up to the hotel. “It’s really stunning, you know?”

“Thank you, Ren,” Hux replies, trying to hide how pleased he is at the complement. “Now get out, we’re here.”

Hux is lucky that, even slightly drunk, Ren is still able to strut himself across the hotel lobby, because he is absolutely certain he wouldn’t be able to carry a man that large by himself. He tries not to watch Ren’s hips sway as he walks, tries not to take notice of the bubbly confidence the alcohol’s given him. He begins to entertain the idea of Ren, naked, in front of him- Ren’s hair splayed on the pillow, the way those lips would look spread in a moan, the way that chest of his might look under Hux’s hands –but in the elevator, the smell of alcohol is too distracting. Ren’s drunk. He’s half-aware of what’s happening around them.

He can’t, Hux decides. Not now. Not tonight. Certainly not like this.

Ren leans against the wall as Hux unlocks their hotel room, hovering over Hux with a lewd smile. “You’re into me, aren’t you.”

“Hm? Of course not,” Hux replies, swinging the door open and pointing into it. “In.”

“You like me. You want me, don’t you,” Ren continues, practically purring, walking backwards into the room. His smile’s morphed into something else, something predatory, and Hux snorts

“Not even in your wildest dreams, Ren. Get to bed.”

“Come with me,” Ren whines.

“No, Ren. Go on.”

Ren pouts at him for a moment, but rolls his eyes and tosses Hux a wink. “Fine,” he sighs, strutting across the living space to his bedroom doors. “But you’re missing out on quite a show..”

“Save it for your fangirls,” Hux sighs, and shuts himself into his own room.

He waits until the movement in their hotel has ceased, and then sneaks back out as quietly as he can to check on Ren. He finds the man strewn across his bed, barely covered in sheets and half naked, snoring slightly in his sleep. Satisfied, Hux returns to his bedroom, comfortably asleep in just a few seconds.

 

The next day is practically a blur. Before he knows it, Mitaka is texting him asking if he’s ready for his meeting with their “contact”, as Mitaka had put it.

“It’s evening already?” he asks, sliding into the backseat.

“Yes, sir?” Mitaka responds, confused. “Are you- should we reschedule?”

“No, no. Let’s go.”

The second he enters the building, Hux can see her: Maz Kanata, a short, wrinkled woman with warm brown skin. He makes his way to the bar, ordering a double tall espresso, and then he wades through the busy crowds to get to her. “Maz,” he greets her as he sits. She squints at him through her massive, thick glasses, almost as if she’s unsure it’s really him.

“It’s been a while,” she replies, cocking her head. Maz was one of those people it was invaluable for Hux to know; she was supposedly involved with some kind of black market, run out behind her famous bar. She could always get information if someone needed it, but it was the kind of information that it was best not to ask where it’d come from. Not to mention, her open mic night was one of the best places to find new talents. “I noticed your new project.”

“Somewhat of a handful,” Hux sighs. “What have you found?”

“Your drug- ADHD medication,” she replies, pushing a few pieces of paper across the booth. “I’m guessing it isn’t yours.”

“No, no. I don’t know whose it is.” He peers at the information. _Side effects include: irritability, sleeplessness or sleeping too much, trouble eating,_ and the list goes on. Hux squints at it, grimacing. _When I’m misbehaving,_ Ren’s voice returns to him. How cruel. He wonders if this is the reason behind the “freak outs”; it’s obvious Ren’s got no small amount of anger issues, and a quick temper on top of that, but he seems obsessed with control, especially of himself. This must be the little push over the edge that leaves his name in headlines and his roommates gone the next day. “This is curious,” Hux says, looking up at Maz.

“I’ll take your word for it,” she replies, leaning back again and sipping at her overly involved blender drink. “I’m guessing Shivers will be paying me?”

“Ah, yes. Mitaka will be forwarding your check.” Hux nods, folds the papers and hides them in his coat. Despite the heat, he simply didn’t feel comfortable without it on; he shoulders it and stands. “Thank you for your speed.”

“For you, General? Of course.” Maz peers at him, nodding once before he walks away.

“Did you find what you need?” Mitaka asks when Hux slips back into the back seat.

“I did. Back to the hotel, if you don’t mind.”

When Hux enters the hotel, he finds Ren sitting in almost complete darkness, watching television in his room with the door open. Annoyed, Hux goes through and begins turning on lights. “What the hell,” he mutters, leaning into Ren’s doorway. “Are you allergic to light?”

“Have you see the things they’re saying about me?” Ren asks, voice miserable. “How they’re trying to decipher my face? They’re going to find the truth eventually, and then it’s all over.”

“It’s not over,” Hux sighs, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “Relax. Right now everything they have is purely speculation. They can’t prove anything.”

“And when they can, Hux?” Ren asks, voice loud angry. “When they can? Then what.”

“I don’t know, Ren, but we’ll get there when we get there,” Hux replies coolly. “There’s no reason to concern yourself with _what ifs_. You’re an adult, and no one was actually charged or prosecuted for your death. They can’t stop you now.”

“That’s not what the Supreme Leader says.” The familiar petulance makes Hux actually roll his eyes. “He’s not as useless as you make him sound, you know. We’ve survived this far.”

“If anything, he’s more useless than I make him sound, Ren,” Hux snaps. “Not to mention, _he’s_ the one who needs to be worried about your reveal. He’s the one with everything to lose, not you, not me.”

“We’ll see,” Ren replies ominously, turning back to his television.

“Indeed we will,” Hux replies, annoyed.

He manages to get a few pieces of paperwork done before Ren interrupts him.

“What do they even know!” Ren shouts from the other room. He storms into Hux’s open doorway, pointing back at the television. “Now they’re saying I must be _hideous._ That I must have some horrible deformation, as if that’s got anything to do with- anything, at all!”

“Ren,” Hux replies mildly. He’s ignored.

“All that should matter is the music, all that should matter is what I bring to the table, and they ignore it because they can’t see my face-“ Hux realizes suddenly that Ren’s face is wet. He must be crying again. His tirade doesn’t sound too choked, and Hux wonders if it’s an involuntary reaction. “-As if the shape of my face is going to change my sound-“

“Ren,” Hux replies again, louder this time.

“And they don’t even _care_ about the music! The second I reveal myself they’re not going to be satisfied! It’s going to go from _how ugly is he_ to _that ugly? And he’s Ben Solo!_ And nothing I do will ever fucking matter!”

“Ren.” Perhaps the finality in Hux’s tone stops him, or the tirade had already burned through, but Ren finally looks at him, furious and hurt. “Relax. You’re watching a gossip show. They only care about what makes ratings.”

“But this-!” Ren starts, but Hux holds up a hand.

“Is just another thing that makes ratings. Now, it’s what’s wrong with his face. Later, it’s what’s wrong with his clothes. Later still, it’s what’s wrong with his family. They don’t _truly_ care what your issues are, they just want to talk about you because you’re the hot item right now.”

“I..” Ren seems to deflate somewhat, a vague confusion setting into his face.

“Shouldn’t pay them mind,” Hux finishes simply, gathering the clothing he’d arranged on his bed. “Now, if you don’t mind- I’m going to take a shower. And Ren?” Hux adds as he pauses across the room, leaning out of Ren’s doorway. “For the record. You are rather attractive.”

“What?” Ren replies, calling after him, but Hux ignores him.

When Hux comes out of his shower, Ren is curled in bed, with the lights turned off. Hux assumes he’s sleeping, and sneaks out of the room, closing the door behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

**KYLO REN’S NEW BAND MEMBERS ANNOUNCED – _Captain Phasma finally returns from long hiatus._**

“Old news,” sniffs Hux, looking over the site Phasma had sent him.

“And wrong. I didn’t go on hiatus, I _quit._ But, they want me to come in and give an interview,” Phasma replies without looking up, trying to organize her schedule around what Hux had already planned. “Something of a photoshoot, as well. A way to garner more interest, I think.”

“That sounds good. It’s an internet-only publication?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t sound detrimental to me.”

“I agree.” He glances up at her. “Can you schedule it for next week? We’re expected to be able to rehearse on-set most of the week for this Saturday’s show.”

“I can. I think that would be best, anyways. I’m sure we’ll be able to release more information next week, now that everything’s coming together.”

“God, what a month it’s been.”

“It really, really has.”

The band manages to put together another single before Wednesday, thankfully; with the diligence of Matt, they’re able to have it mixed and ready for the show, planning to drop it again after the performance. Phasma and her crew take measurements of the soundstage the band will be performing on, and she’s able to put together the light show and important details of her own accord. Hux manages the rest of it, dealing with the legal information, discussing the rules. He doesn’t even see much of Ren or the band until Thursday night when they rehearse one last time for the night; the lights are stunning, colors that pulse and lick down the stage, never once touching him long enough to reveal his secret.

They’ve come such a long way in such a short amount of time. Hux feels a stab of pride at what he’s managed to accomplish, what he’s managed to orchestrate, and his mood is only soured by the realization that Snoke will likely call him on Monday again to insist it wasn’t good. Daft old bastard.

Friday is the final rehearsal, and another long day of phone calls and emails for Hux, and everything still wasn’t finished. Finally, finally, the rehearsal finishes.

“All right, everyone. That’s a wrap for today,” calls someone on the stage, and Hux ushers the band into Ren’s solitary dressing room. Ren pulls his helmet off the second he can, rounding on Slip.

“You keep missing the chords after the second chorus,” he hisses, but Hux pulls him back.

“Relax,” Hux sighs, annoyed. “Slip, do you need to be excused?”

“What? No, no, I love this band,” Slip babbles, shaking. Phasma watches on calmly, arms crossed, but Finn seems unable to watch, grimacing and pacing slightly behind the couch Phasma was perched on. “I like being here, I like doing this…”

“We’ve practiced a thousand fucking times and you can’t hit the notes when you need to.” Hux glares at Ren for all of a second and he lowers his voice, growling. “We need someone we can rely on.”

“You can rely on me, I promise.” Slip looks like he might cry. Finn grimaces again, glancing away.

“Tomorrow’s the show. If we just focus, we’ll be able to pull this off perfectly,” Hux says slowly, trying to calm Slip and Ren simultaneously. Ren just pulls back, glaring at the wall. “Relax. Stay focused. Stay calm. And you can do this.”

“I think we ought to finish for the night,” Phasma pipes up after no one replies to Hux. Hux nods.

“I think that would be best, yes.”

Relieved, the band disperses. Ren hangs back for a moment, waiting for Hux.

“Are you coming with me?” he asks, the mask already firmly returned to his head, ruining his voice.

“I’ll catch up,” Hux replies, glancing down at his tablet. “I actually have a fair amount of paperwork that needs doing and it will be easier to do it here, especially with Susan still in the building. I’ll be home tonight.”

“Very well,” Ren murmurs, striding away without another second lost.

Thankfully, Mitaka is able to take him back to the First Order, and by the time 8 PM rolls around, Hux has managed to catch up with all of his backlogged work. Entire shows have been booked and planned, and all the emails Snoke felt content to send him days late are answered and filed. He leaves his office feeling much better; everything’s in its proper place.

So, of course, Kylo fucking Ren has to ruin it somehow. It’s apparent the very second that Hux enters their hotel that the man’s more than a little tipsy; the champagne bottles on the kitchen counter tell an interesting tale. Hux sighs heavily, already annoyed. _Great._

He finds Ren sprawled across the couch, nursing half a glass of what Hux assumes is champagne. Ren looks up at Hux and smiles slowly. “Hux,” he slurs, his voice heady.

“Ren,” Hux replies sharply, grimacing. “You’ve been having fun.”

“You could say that,” Ren murmurs, giggling slightly. He rolls up from his laying position and towards Hux, smiling wider. “You look stressed.”

“I’ve been working all night. You shouldn’t be drinking, you have that show tomorrow.”

“So? Come and sit with me. Have a drink. Relax,” and Ren leans up, reaching for Hux, who instinctively steps back. “Oh, cmon. Cmere.”

“Ren, what the _hell_ are you doing.”

“Did you mean it?”

“What?”

“Did you mean it, the other day. When you said-“ Ren’s cheeks color slightly, and he laughs, standing uneasily. “When you said you find me attractive.”

“Yes,” Hux replies irritably, glaring. “And?”

“I just think that’s interesting,” Ren murmurs, stepping around the couch and towards Hux. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Probably because no one’s seen your face before. Ren, you’re a mess. Take a shower and go to sleep. I need you to be functioning tomorrow.”

“No, no. I want to spend time with you,” Ren replies, leaning close to Hux. It’s instinctive, again, to want to punch Ren in the face and get away, but Hux tamps down the feeling. Ren’s breath is heavy with champagne, and hot, and Hux can feel the heat off the man’s body from this close. “I want to, mm. Get to know you better.”

“I’m not interested.”

“No? Not even,” and Ren leans even closer, hovering over Hux now, his mouth close to Hux’s ear. They’re not up against a wall, but Hux feels trapped all the same, and he glares up into Ren’s face. Something in Hux wants to respond, wants to lean up and kiss him, push him down on his knees and punish him for his thoughtlessness- but Hux tamps that down too, swallowing hard. Business and pleasure shouldn’t be mixed when business is a cosmic disaster like Kylo Ren, and not to mention drunk. “Not even a little?”

“No,” Hux deadpans.

Ren seems to deflate somewhat. “Really?” he asks, leaning back.

“Really.”

“…Oh,” and Ren steps away, seeming meek and unbalanced again. “Oh. Uh. Sorry.”

“I’m going to bed,” Hux replies, grateful for the out. “Shower and go to bed. You had better be functioning tomorrow, or I will be furious.” He turns on his heel and strides into his room, slamming the doors. He leans against them, listening to Ren awkwardly shuffle around and picks up his bottles and glasses, turning off the television. Hux tries to breathe, tries to shake the feeling of Ren’s body so close to his, that heat seeming to linger against him.

“Fuck you, Kylo Ren,” Hux whispers to himself, listening to Ren totter away into his own room.

Despite his best efforts, Hux isn’t able to shake the lingering feeling of Ren’s body so close to him. It takes him two hours of angrily lying in bed before he finally, furiously gives in to his instincts and fucks his own hand, eyes squeezed shut, imagining the way Ren’s voice would sound in his ear again, moaning instead of drunk, begging and pleading to come. It’s enough to get him off, dissipating that heat and pressure, and he’s finally able to sleep.

 

Saturday itself is a day of calm before the storm. There’s time to practice, but it’s all lazy, with the instruments taking most of the time. Ren practices by himself on the side of the stage, running through quick choruses and scales. By the time night rolls around, everyone’s hurried off into their own makeup chairs but Ren; as each member is finished, they slowly begin to fill Ren’s private dressing room. He’d done his hair perfectly, as, thanks to Phasma’s careful blocking, he didn’t need to bring the mask with him past backstage. They all watch the show as it airs live, oddly subdued by the anxiety Hux is sure they’re feeling.

“What do you think of the show?” Ren mutters as they wait.

“I don’t much care for the host,” Hux sniffs.

“Some of the skits are funny.” Finn shrugs. “Pretty hit and miss though.”

“Really? I loved that loud chef one,” Slip replies, grinning around the room to his bandmates’ unamused faces. “No?”

“No,” Phasma sighs, glancing up at the clock above the door. “It’s almost time. Get ready.”

Everyone but Hux shuffles away into the darkness, who heads instead to the tech booth behind the audience.

The first song, the hardest due to timing, goes well; it’s the same song they’d played a week before, with the newer second song saved for the end. “It will go over better that way,” Phasma had explained, “and entice people to stay. Apparently all the adverts have had snippets of it, for interest.”

“Huh,” Ren had replied, obviously not interested.

Hux is proud of them; despite Slip’s missed chords here and there, they perform well, bowing to the audience before quietly slipping back off the stage to wait again. Hux doesn’t bother following them, preferring instead to stay with the techs. He watches the show, bored by the skits, more interested in the things happening off camera.

It’s the second song, of course, where everything gets difficult. It should be the easiest, with the most amount of time to not only set up the lights but for the band itself to play, and no skits immediately after. As Ren’s standing on the stage, however, patiently waiting for the cue to sing, the lights flash for a moment, showing his face clearly to the live audience.

Time seems to stop for all of that second. The audience facing forward sees him, if only for a second, and seem to gasp, seem to lean back slightly, clearly aware they weren’t supposed to see him- Hux, standing in the control booth, sees Ren’s shocked face, the perfect impression of a deer in headlights- and then the stage goes back to darkness. Hux rounds on the nearest tech.

“What. _Happened._ ”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I guess I—“ The tech glances around quickly, checking all the switches. “I guess I must have fucked something up, I’m sorry, it was an accident.”

“Was that broadcast?”

“No, no. It shouldn’t have been, no. They’re going on now, look- the cameras show what’s live,“ and he points to the darkened screen, Ren’s silhouette hardly visible.

“Shit,” Hux mutters. “We don’t exactly have a contingency plan for this.”

“I am so sorry,” the tech repeats.

The song starts with instrumentals, luckily, so Ren apparently has enough time to recover before he has to sing; he manages to sing the song nearly-perfect, finishing and immediately disappearing from the stage as the host announces their single dropping that night and the thank-yous for the end of the show.

Before the cameras are even off, however, the audience begins to disperse; Hux steps out of the booth, watching them despondently. No chance of grabbing them, of calmly asking them not to out Ren’s true appearance. Damn it all to hell. He runs to the backstage, weaving through everyone without skipping a beat. Phasma is still standing there, with both Finn and Slip. Her face is grim.

“I’m not taking them in there,” she tells Hux quietly. “He’s already furious. He’ll tear Slip to shreds.”

“Don’t worry,” Hux replies. “Do what you need to here, go to the after-party. I’ll handle Ren.” Phasma nods, squeezing his arm, and he strides off.

Hux meets Ren back in the dressing room he was given, finding Ren pacing back and forth, helmet still firmly on.

“They saw me,” he breathes through the mask.

“I know.”

“They saw my face,” Ren hisses, and he turns on Hux, suddenly seeming so much larger, not just three inches taller anymore. “ _You_. This is _your_ fault.”

“How is this my fault?” Hux replies calmly, not budging from where he stands.

“This was your idea. All of it.”

“As I recall, this was _Phasma’s_ idea, and it wasn’t her fault, either.”

“They SAW my FACE!” Ren bellows, loud and imposing, and Hux simply stares into his face, refusing to back down. “They saw me! They know who I am!”

“It doesn’t matter as much as you seem to think,” Hux replies slowly, calmly, refusing to lose his temper too. “Who you were then has no bearing on now. It’s over. It’s done.”

“That’s not _good enough,_ ” Ren hisses.

“It’s what I can offer you. The audience was young. They might not have even recognized you. We will deal with the damage if it comes. But there’s not much more that can be done than that- and, anyways, they’ll probably go on about how attractive-”

“ _That’s not fucking good enough!_ ” Ren screams, and for the first time Hux feels afraid. Ren pulls away from him, stalking across the room. In one quick motion, he throws a glass against a wall, letting out a vicious snarl. “Someone- someone has to be held accountable,” he hisses.

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Furthermore, this is unacceptable behavior,” Hux replies calmly, “and I won’t be party to it. Whatever damages you do here, whatever you break- that will be forwarded to Snoke himself, and I will not be paying for it out of pocket.”

“Don’t you _dare_ fucking threaten me.” Ren turns, facing Hux again, his heavy breathing heard through the mask. “You have no fucking right to throw him in my face. Don’t you fucking-“

“I’m not threatening you,” Hux interrupts, cutting Ren off with a raised voice despite himself. “I’m simply informing you. I will not be responsible for your _tantrum_ , and I will _not_ be footing the bill.”

“This isn’t a fucking tantrum!” Ren starts, but Hux, feeling the full brunt of his own rage, interrupts him, shouting him down.

“Yes it fucking is, Ren! You’re acting like a _child._ No one meant to let you be seen- You are _out of line_ and I won’t fucking _have it!_ ” Hux snarls back at him, lowering his voice. “I told you before- you will adhere to my rules. You will treat me and my clients, your fucking _bandmates_ , well. Or you will be shipped right back to your precious fucking _Supreme Leader_ with all the broken glasses you’re responsible for!”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Ren murmurs, his voice somehow more dangerous at a lower volume.

“Those are my terms. You will stop, _now_ , or I will be ending this little charade of yours and returning to my _real_ life,” Hux continues, as if Ren had never spoken. “Fall back in step or leave, I don’t care. But you decide now.”

“Fuck you,” Ren spits again, and goes for the door; he pushes past Hux with a violent shove of his shoulder, and disappears into the hallway.

Hux lets out a low, slow breath, and goes to pick up the glass shards.

 

Hux returns to the darkened hotel room well after the show had dispersed and his services were no longer needed. Once everyone else had left for the party, Hux had refused to return to the hotel, stopping instead at a late-night diner to feed himself something more than the juice and cereal that waited for him back at the hotel. When he lets himself into the room, he finds Ren waiting in a pair of ratty plaid pajama pants and sleeveless undershirt. If the crumpled tissues around him, his sniffling nose and the pieces of cardboard worried apart from the tissue box are any indication, he’s been sitting here at least as long as he’s been in the room. Hux turns on a light and Ren winces, his face clearly showing signs of a few hours of crying.

“Hux,” he croaks, and Hux raises an eyebrow.

“Ren.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I know it wasn’t your fault. I didn’t mean to—“ Ren pauses, hiccupping. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I know that was unacceptable. I’m sorry.”

“Hm,” Hux replies. He takes a seat on the couch across from Ren, crossing his arms over his chest. “I take it you’ve decided to stay with this, then.”

“Yes,” Ren murmurs, bowing his head, clearly embarrassed and upset. “I want to keep trying. I want to keep going.”

“Good. I would hate to lose all my hard work over something so trivial.”

“I’ll pay for the glass. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve already apologized, Ren, relax. And there’s no need to pay for the glass. They didn’t even seem to notice.”

“For so long, he would tell me he would leave, or I would be taken, if my identity was found out.. That all of my hard work would mean nothing. I still believe that.”

“I noticed.”

“I’m sorry,” Ren hiccups again, sniffing. “I won’t do that again, I promise.”

“You had better not,” Hux replies, and he fixes Ren with a tense, angry stare. “I don’t appreciate being blamed for something outside of my ability to control. I don’t appreciate being _screamed_ at for it. I don’t appreciate your throwing glasses around as if that is meant to change my mind. I won’t be bowing and scraping to you- it’s together, or nothing, and I will not be disrespected in this way.”

“I understand,” Ren murmurs, his voice all but a whisper. “I do. I understand.”

“Good.” Hux stands. “I’m going to bed, now. I expect you do the same. We begin again on Monday, and I expect you to come with the same amount of energy and willingness as always.”

“Yes, sir,” Ren replies, nodding.

Hux leaves him in the living room, and in the morning finds it cleaned, and Ren sleeping soundly in his bedroom. He leaves as soon as he can, spending the entire day at the First Order and working on whatever he can find; when he returns, the living room is still vacant, Ren’s doors still closed. A quick glance over the room makes it clear Ren hasn’t left for more than a few moments altogether. Hux returns to his own room, quietly glad for the reprieve.


	7. Chapter 7

**NEW RUMORS EMERGE: KYLO REN IS BEN SOLO?**

“You have truly failed this time, _General._ ”

God, Hux is so sick of his Mondays starting off like this. It used to be he never had to hear from Snoke but once a month, if even that; this weekly updating thing is really beginning to try Hux’s patience, especially considering Snoke hasn’t even any real complaints. He doesn’t even seem to want to hear actual updates, either. And now, Snoke’s apparently too impatient to begin heaping on the bullshit, and has decided the normal Skype-wall trick isn’t good enough- no, this morning, Hux is treated to Snoke’s slithering voice via cell phone, instead, as they drive towards the First Order Records building.

“Is that so, sir?” Hux replies, not bothering to hide the disdain on his face. After all, the old lizard can’t see him now, and he’s free to roll his eyes at Ren, who raises an eyebrow in silent response. “I’m shocked. I wasn’t aware I had failed recently?”

“He’s been _revealed,_ ” Snoke hisses. “His identity is no longer protected as it once was, and that is a problem.”

“Ah. Well. In that case, I certainly have not failed, with all respect, sir. A problem can always be fixed.”

“There is nothing you can say to these people to quiet them.”

“That’s certainly true, but that’s true of anything. No matter what we say, they’re always going to jump to their own conclusions. At least the properly-worded press release will shield us, and I think it will simply add to the mystique we’ve been purposely building to gain attention.”

“That is pointless. Kylo Ren needs to return to the Knights, cast off this foolish distraction and return to work.”

“It isn’t pointless. It’s going exactly as you ordered. In fact, it’s gaining you more money than the Knights right now. His last single sold faster alone than their last entire album and it’s only been a day and a half, not even. If anything, I would say this is exactly where he is working his hardest.”

“Money is not the point, General!” Snoke yells in his ear, and Hux winces, pulling the phone away until the volume lowers. “The point is- you have single-handedly allowed his identity to be given away, and he hasn’t even released his album yet!”

“This was bound to happen eventually. You’ve been hiding a musical urban legend in your basement for God knows how many years now. These things escape eventually.” Hux pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sir. I promise you, we can fix this. It will end well for us, and there isn’t any need to pull him yet.”

“I’m warning you, General. This has gone on long enough. I want that album released _soon_. If I do not see the proper results, I will be pulling him back to his proper place.” A long shuddering breath, as if somehow Snoke is too furious to breathe. “You do not have the proper hand on this situation. You do not have the right focus. I demand you reevaluate your place here, General, because if Kylo Ren fails, _so do you_.”

“I understand that, sir,” Hux replies calmly, “and I can assure you, I have no interest in seeing him fail. You have seen my work before. You have seen how close to failure I have come before and still managed to emerge triumphant. You know that I can save this. I only ask that you let me try. We’re all doing our best.”

“See that you do,” Snoke spits, and hangs up.

Ren cocks his head. “Is …everything all right?” he asks, toying with the helmet in his lap, apparently unafraid that he’ll be seen driving through the city. Not that Hux can blame him; the tint on the limo’s windows are unreal. Hux is sure they’ve got to be illegal.

“Snoke is just getting nervous, that’s all,” Hux replies, sighing. “It’s no matter. We’ll have your stardom and he’ll just have to live with my success.”

“If you insist,” Ren murmurs, glancing out the window.

“He’s only getting nervous because if you run away to be your own superstar, he won’t have a hidden trump card anymore. But- I think your use as his trophy has ended, now. You won’t be able to go back to the Knights now, not for some time. Not until this has played out.”

“I don’t want to abandon the Knights.” Ren looks up at Hux as if he’s been beaten, or Hux might raise a hand. Hux frowns.

“You don’t have to, unless he forces you to leave. But this was his idea, and he’s the one who demanded I do the work. So. Here I am, doing the work, and he’s just complaining about it because he doesn’t care for my methods, as if they’ve never not worked in the past.” Hux snarls under his breath, typing furiously on his tablet. “We’ll just have to prove him wrong, hm?”

“Yeah,” Ren mutters, nodding absently.

As the band practices, Hux works on the press release. He words it as carefully as he can, never outright saying _I am not Ben Solo_ , but instead focusing on the theme of change. _My name is Kylo Ren. Ben Solo has been gone for a very long time. To say we are the same is ridiculous; I have grown and changed, and even if such a person still existed, I am willing to bet he’d look, act, be nothing like I do, am now. Leave the past there- this, here, now, is my present, and my upcoming album and tour are my future._

It’s stupid, if he’s honest. It’s the sort of drivel he’d expect to read from someone else, not his own hand. But it should work, so he leaves it where it is. When Ren approves it, Hux sends it out. Overnight, the media seems to tear itself in half: either they believe that Ren is outright lying and he is Ben Solo, or they seem to take the response at face value and write that he either isn’t or they’ll have to wait for definite proof. Some astute reporters point out that he never said he _wasn’t_ Ben Solo, merely that he had changed, and seem content with that. Ren watches the responses as always; he mutters about them here and there to Hux as he fills out paperwork.

“At least they were willing to admit that we did well on the last show,” Ren tells him angrily one night. Hux just nods.

As they work on, even the band is surprised at the level of progress they’ve been able to make; with the help of Matt, they manage to record and mix two songs throughout the week, even after Phasma has to leave early on Wednesday for her interview. Ren seems satisfied with the quality of their work, and his calm and collected mood makes for much better morale.

“You’re very good at creating the guitar parts,” Ren tells Finn as they idly relax once Phasma’s left. “Even though you play drums. You’ve got a good ear. Do you play guitar?”

“Oh. Thanks,” Finn says, surprised. “I can play just about everything. I just prefer drums, that’s all.”

“That’s impressive. I can play a few things too. Not- not drums. Keyboards, guitars. Uh.” Ren shifts, pulling out his ever-present wad of songs and thumbing through them. “I’m not good at writing music, though. I’ll let you read what I have already written, if you can start writing the music for them. This is everything I have written. I, uh. I may need to type them, though,” he mutters, glancing down at his handwriting. “They’re… a mess. Sorry.”

“That’s okay, let me see.” Finn takes the offered papers, reads through them for a few long seconds, before looking up again. “How many do you have here?”

“Fifteen, twenty… Something like that. I’ve been writing them for years, but I’ve been writing a lot more lately. I’m sure not all of them can be saved. I don’t know how many we want to put on the album.”

“I dunno. But I can look at what you have here, see what I can do.”

“If we can get, mm… ten altogether, that should make a decent album,” Hux cuts in, glancing up from his tablet and raising an eyebrow at Finn, who shrugs. Ren, working with someone? Ren, telling them they’re doing well? Curious.

“Yeah,” Ren nods. “That sounds perfect. Ten. Maybe twelve.”

“We’ll have to see what we can manage, Ren.” Hux shrugs. “For now- we can’t do much more tonight Shall we go home?”

“Sure.” Ren stands. “Let me know if you need clarifications on those. I know I … wrote bars and things, trying to find a baseline. But you don’t have to use those, if you can’t figure out where I was going.”

“Okay, sure,” and Finn stands with him, grinning now, nodding. “Sure. I’ll, uh. I’ll show you what I’m thinking tomorrow.”

 

When Phasma returns the next day, she checks in with Hux first.

“How was the interview?” he asks without looking up from his newspaper.

“Oh, it went well enough. Asking about what I’ve been working on, how I’ve been doing in retirement. Why I came back. I said you threatened me with death.”

“Good,” Hux murmurs.

“They asked me if he’s really Ben Solo. I saw your press release.”

Hux looks up, fixing his eyes on Phasma and her tasteful silver coat. “Did you. What did you think?”

“It’s certainly safe enough. That’s probably the best you could have given them,” she replies, shrugging. “I told them only that he’d never told me if he was, and so I couldn’t say.”

“Equally safe. That’s a good answer.”

“Thank you. I have learned from the best.”

“You flatter me.” Hux smirks, looking back down at his paper.

“Is he Ben Solo?” she asks quietly, and Hux pauses. He glances up again, raising his eyebrow, cocking his head. “I want to know what I’m getting into,” Phasma replies to his silence. “If he is, we’re walking into a media storm. The more famous he gets, the more we’ll have to deal with. Eventually, it’s going to come out. Eventually, it’s going to start trouble.”

“I know.” Hux grimaces. “He is. The entire story is rather lurid.”

“I’m sure. I don’t want to know,” and Phasma smiles softly. “You know how to pick them.”

“Pick them? Oh, please. He was thrust onto me, not the other way around.”

“Finn tells me Ren has given him the entire stock of his songs, so far as he knows.”

“Oh, yes. They actually had a nice little bonding moment last night. I feel as if our little boy is finally growing up,” Hux jokes, rolling his eyes at her.

She laughs. “You must be so proud.”

“I don’t think I could care less, honestly. They’re waiting for you downstairs. I’m sure they’re already roaring to put down another song.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she replies, turning to stride towards the door. “Don’t stay up here too long. I’ve noticed Ren sings much better when you’re around.”

“Bullshit,” Hux calls after her as the door swings closed.

 

The week goes well, as far as the band is considered. With Finn now working closely with Ren, they manage to get more and more of his songs figured out, even managing to record one before Friday night. Ren even seems to be in high spirits and the band is flourishing. It’s the perfect balance of not too much work, not too little, and Ren not going off the handle at Slip every ten seconds. On top of that, Mitaka emails to tell Hux that everything at his house is safe and sound, and with the the media’s calmed for the week, it should be the perfect week. It’s easily one of the easiest they’ve had since starting the mad dash for the summer’s tour.

However. For the entire week now, Hux hasn’t been able to sleep without first jacking off to the thought of Ren’s body, Ren’s voice, Ren’s hair splayed out on silk sheets. It’s annoying, as far as Hux is concerned. He dreams of soft, scarred curves and delicious moans, and finds it difficult to look Ren in the face afterwards. If Ren notices, he doesn’t say anything, for which Hux is eternally grateful; if anything, Ren seems to take it as some kind of silent shy void that he has to fill, and talks more than normal. He shows Hux recipes he’s found online, or interesting clothing, or some other nonsense he thinks Hux might want to see for whatever reason.

It only adds to Hux’s frustration. His dreams are laced with whatever recipe he was shown spread across Ren’s body, or picking the clothing off of Ren with his teeth, or whatever nonsense his mind can concoct. He wonders how the man might feel at his mercy, fucked wild and breathless. He wonders what it would be like, to make Ren lose control in a situation Hux created. He wonders how he would taste on Ren’s lips, how he would arch into Ren’s mouth, how he might pull Ren’s hair.

He wonders, furiously, when he’ll be able to sleep again without a cacophonous catastrophe of Ren’s moaning haunting him, especially considering he hasn’t even heard the man do it yet.

On Saturday, he’s almost tempted; Ren’s laying out over the couch, his hip bone tantalizingly visible over the band of his pajamas, muttering about the evening’s news. For just a second, just one fascinating moment, Hux almost asks him to get naked, to get on his knees, to say Hux’s name like a prayer. He opens his mouth, but before he can get out the words-

“Why don’t you like being called General?”

“Uh,” Hux replies unceremoniously, furiously closing his mouth in an attempt to stop himself from blurting out _suck me_. He glares at his tablet for a moment, shaking his head. “Where the hell did this come from.”

“It’s just something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately,” Ren murmurs, picking at the polish on his nails. “You always seem annoyed with whoever calls you that. I thought it was respectful?”

“It’s not,” Hux spits. “It was a joke, a thousand years ago. When- mm.” He pauses, sighs. “Do you really want the sordid details.”

“You know about my family,” Ren replies, shrugging. “It only seems fair.”

“It isn’t. But.” Hux tries to find the proper starting point, shifting. “Mm. My father was a manager too. He used to work for The Empire Records. He was very good, trained other managers that were all also very good. His layout for the company is what I tweaked and am using for the First Order now. But… The Empire fell. And he was disgraced, just like everyone else. Even moving to America didn’t help.”

“Oh,” Ren replies, cocking his head. “He was working for Plaugeis, then.”

Hux is caught off guard, frowning. “What?”

“Yeah. Darth Plagueis as a label founded The Empire. They all fell because of Skywalker Records.”

“I… didn’t know that,” Hux murmurs, pulling up Google on his tablet.

“Not many did, actually,” Ren replies, shrugging. “But that’s interesting. So your father moved to America.”

“At the time he was known as The Commandant, because he was known for helping so many prolific managers; when The Empire fell, he was left to rot. No one seemed to remember him until I started making my own name in the industry, and then everyone began to joke that I was following in his footsteps. One of the gossip rags called me the General as a joke, and.” Hux shrugs back at Ren. “There you have it. Satisfied?”

“For now, I suppose. Though I have to say, you would look stunning in military garb.”

“Shut up,” Hux mutters, annoyed.

When Ren finally goes to bed, Hux is able to Google to his heart’s content, and finds Ren’s actually telling the truth: Plagueis had been rumored to be behind the Empire, to an extent. Some man named Palpatine actually had, and searching Palpatine lead him to Sidious, Palpatine’s DJ name from decades ago. It wasn’t until Hux found a picture, however, that he realized how right Ren was: Sidious and Snoke standing side by side, the latter looking just as hideously scarred and lizardy as he always had. Hux squinted at it, wondering if perhaps Photoshop was responsible, or his mind was playing tricks on him, but no matter how many times he kept returning to the picture with a clear mind, there Snoke stood staring back at him.

To some extent, then, it was Skywalker’s fault he was here, now, managing Skywalker’s wayward nephew. How interesting. Ultimately pointless, but interesting.

But even this little traipse into the past didn’t spare Hux from his dreams: thanks to goddamn Kylo Ren’s goddamn comments, that night, Hux dreams of putting Ren on his knees, dressed in the splendid whites of some unknown military’s dress uniform, his medals shaking as Ren tries desperately to please him properly, head bobbing up and down diligently on Hux’s cock.

 

The next day, Snoke calls again. “General,” he croons over the phone, and Hux shivers without thinking. “I wanted to make sure you’ve been giving my apprentice his medicines.”

“Of course I have, sir,” Hux replies, flipping through the Sunday newspaper where he comfortably sat in bed. “He seems to be handling it well.”

“That’s interesting. I’m glad he seems to be doing so well under your tutelage.”

“Oh, I’m not teaching him anything, sir. Just overseeing the fruits of your good work.” Hux rolls his eyes at himself, pushing the paper away. “Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“No, I’m only checking in. You’ll have the album done soon, yes?” Snoke asks innocently, and Hux feels an odd anxiety grip his stomach. Something isn’t right.

“Fairly soon, yes, sir,” Hux replies.

“Excellent. How soon would you say?”

“Uh. For a full album? Perhaps a month or so.”

“A month. I see,” Snoke mutters, his voice no longer the sickly sweet innocent tone he’d had just seconds before. “That isn’t good enough.”

“That’s particularly fast, considering where we began,” Hux begins to reply, but Snoke cuts him off.

“No, I expect better of you both, and your precious Captain as well. I expect this will be finished in two weeks.”

“I-“ _Are you out of your mind!?_ Hux wants to screech, but he swallows it down and makes his voice particularly soft. “Sir, that isn’t enough time.”

“You’ll simply have to make do, then, General,” Snoke replies. “You should have had one by now. Easily, this could have been finished with the Knights, and yet… you seem to be allowing everyone to lapse into laziness.”

“Sir, I-“

“Two weeks,” Snoke snaps, and hangs up.


	8. Chapter 8

**KYLO REN ANNOUNCES ALBUM, TOUR DATES – _Album supposedly due early next month._**

_Two weeks,_ Snoke’s text reads, a grim reminder of the earlier day’s conversation, and so begins the most stressful two weeks of the entire ordeal. Hux relays this message to the band.

“He’s out of his goddamned mind,” Phasma says, breaking the silence that followed Hux’s announcement. “We have five? Songs? Maybe? And he wants us to have five more created, recorded, mixed and finished by then?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Hux sighs, shaking his head. “He’s.. trying, now. He’s trying to make us fail. He seems to think if we can’t manage this, everything we done is for naught.”

“Fuck that,” Ren murmurs angrily at the back of the room. “Fuck what he thinks. We can do this. We have, what. Fourteen days? We can do this.”

“We’ve already been working at a nearly breakneck pace, Ren,” Phasma responds with no small amount of exasperation, turning to face him, “we can’t possibly work faster than we already have.”

“I disagree. We’ll just… have to focus. We’ll work weekends, we’ll work nights. I won’t let him ruin this for us, I can’t.”

Phasma turns to Hux, eyes a little wider as if to say _talk some sense into him_ , but Hux just shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s right. We can at least _try_ , I’ll just.. need to cancel the other show we were supposed to do soon.”

“He never said how many songs he wanted us to have. We could always cut it at eight, instead,” Ren adds. “It isn’t as if it hasn’t been done before. I would just prefer ten, personally.”

“Well, then.” Phasma stands, face grim. “If we’re going to do this, we need to get started.”

From then on, almost every waking moment was spent in the recording booth. While the band practiced ceaselessly, working out the kinks of each song as quickly as they could, Hux sat on the other side with Matt and spent as much time as he could working out the kinks of their upcoming tour. Tour dates, posters, album art- all manner of different bits and bobs that need doing, Hux tries to finish as quickly as possible. He sends out requests for photographers, costumers, whatever he thinks Ren might want for the graphics.

They hardly have time to speak, each night. More often than not, Hux finds himself exhaustedly collapsing into his bed before he even bothers to try holding a conversation with Ren; half the time, he can’t even imagine the same lewd images that had plagued him the week before, too tired to think beyond _pillow comforter_ sleep. He imagines it’s the same for Ren, who spends his days standing on his feet and singing the same forty refrains for 12, 14, 16 hours a day, but doesn’t ever have the time or interest to ask.

Hux forces himself to shower Thursday, even if he’s hardly awake to do it. When he comes out, he finds Ren sitting on his bed, sniffling and staring out the window. Before Hux can actively convince himself not to say anything, he sighs and asks what’s wrong.

“Nothing,” Ren replies, voice miserable. Hux sighs again.

“I’m not going to ask again, Ren. Either tell me or I’m going to bed.”

“I just. I keep trying to decide how I want to look on stage,” and he turns to face Hux, showing a face full of smudged makeup. Black streaks lace down his cheeks, spread down to his chin from his tears. “And I can’t make it work. Everything I do looks hideous, and I’m so fucking..” but his voice trails off into something inaudible, and he mumbles to himself for a moment, sniffling sadly.

“Ren,” Hux replies exasperatedly, sighing a third time. He walks around the bed to stand in front of Ren. “This is what makeup artists are for.”

“That’s not going to make it better!” Ren half-wails, facing him.

“It is! They know what they’re doing! They’re paid to do it!”

“But I wanted to do it myself.”

“Why! There’s no reason to!”

“It’s just-“

“Easier? Cheaper? What?”

“Less.. humiliating, that’s all..”

“Ren. Listen to me. Rock stars are _expected_ to have makeup on their face. No one’s going to judge you for wanting that, and wanting it done professionally! Christ,” and Hux runs his hand through his still-wet hair. “Please, just. You’ll be fine. You’ll look gorgeous, you already do, and-“

And then Kylo Ren kisses him, standing and grabbing him in one smooth movement.

He doesn’t mean to, but he absolutely drops the shower things still in his hands. They clatter to the ground, but Hux can’t focus on them; he’s too focused on the soft lips on his, on the hands on either side of his face, of the way Ren tastes like mint lip balm.

Ren releases him and he takes a step back, shocked. “I’m sorry,” Ren murmurs. “I’m just.. no one treats me the way you do, no one’s this kind,” and he turns away. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Hux replies, his voice hardly above a whisper, and pulls Ren back to him.

Ren kisses like a man counting on every last one to save him somehow, as if Hux’s kisses alone can save him from drowning or burning up where he stands. He gives each kiss his all, and Hux comes away breathless when they break apart again. Ren’s hands move constantly, from Hux’s face to his shoulders to his hips, and when Ren pulls him closer, Hux can’t resist the urge to lean into him, rolls his hips into Ren’s.

“The bed’s a mess,” Ren murmurs into his mouth as they pull away again.

“Fix it,” Hux replies without missing a beat, and forces himself to take a step back to stop from kissing Ren again. He watches as Ren scurries about, quickly picking up every little makeup brush and powder pad, shoving them into some makeup bag covered in skulls. As Hux watches, he smooths the sheets out and strides back over, leaning in for another kiss, but Hux pulls away. “Wait.”

Ren looks as if Hux had slapped him, but he takes a step back, nodding. “..Do you, uh,” he mumbles, trying to find the words. “..Do you want to go?”

“I should,” Hux breathes, slowly stooping to pick up his shower things again. “This isn’t.. something we should consider. If the President should find out, we would be in serious danger of losing our hard work.”

“Right,” Ren replies, voice low.

“Not to mention the difficulties that come with relationships on tour, or in business situations… It’s nothing personal, of course, it’s just business,” and Hux turns towards the door, moving stiffly. He thinks of laying in his own bed tonight, alone and cold; he thinks of having to imagine Ren’s body before he can sleep, thinks of having to imagine those lips and those eyes and those hands when, just in the other room, all of that and more would be sleeping alone too; he thinks of how fucking stressed he’s been lately, how hard he’s had to work to keep this moving forward. He thinks about how little he enjoys masturbation, how much he enjoys sex.

He pauses in the doorway.

“Nothing personal,” Ren’s echoing, nodding and looking down at his bed forlornly.

“Oh, fuck it,” Hux replies, and he tosses his shower things onto the table beside Ren’s doorway. He turns on his heel, and in four quick strides he’s back in Ren’s arms, kissing him as hard as Hux can manage.

They fall back onto the bed, Ren’s hands on his sides and hips and chest; Ren pulls him up on top, never once even needing to stop the kiss, and pulls his hips closer, grinding up against him.

“Are you sure?” Ren asks between kisses.

“Don’t I seem sure?” Hux replies, pulling Ren’s face back up for another.

Every so often, Ren will roll them both, shifting their position in between every few kisses; by the time Hux notices this has been happening, his head’s on a pillow and Ren’s reaching into his side table, pulling at Hux’s shirt with his other hand.

“What are you doing?” Hux asks, breathless.

“Take- take this off.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Hux replies irritably, pulling up his own shirt and throwing it across the bed. For once, he’s grateful that he has such ratty, easily removable pajamas; it was originally embarrassing that he had to be seen by Kylo Ren of all people in his threadbare white shirt and equally awful but comfy black pajama pants, but now that Kylo Ren of all people is removing them, he’s glad they’re not complicated. Hux cranes his head back, trying to see whatever it is Ren is doing. He spots a tiny bottle and snorts. “Is that _lube_?”

“Yes?” Ren raises an eyebrow at Hux before settling back on his knees and pulling his own shirt off with one deft motion. “And?”

“Aren’t you always alone?” Hux grins.

“Again! And!? It’s more comfortable than lotion!” Ren replies angrily, his cheeks coloring slightly under the streaked makeup, before kissing Hux again to shut him up.

Hux gets lost in the kisses again, but now he can’t help but notice Ren’s hands on his bare skin. Ren’s fingers curve up his body like they’ve always known the layout; his hands slide across his chest, pausing to thumb over taut nipples and exposed hipbones without missing a beat. Hux feels his body getting hotter with each touch, each grasp, each kiss, until he’s gasping and moaning in Ren’s mouth, desperate for more, burning alive.

“Come _on_ ,” Hux murmurs.

“Tsk,” Ren replies, and Hux can feel the grin against his face. “So impatient.”

“You are such a shit,” Hux hisses, but whatever else he was going to say is swallowed up by another moan as Ren’s mouth touches his neck, as Ren’s teeth dig across his skin. “Oh, fuck, Ren, _please_.”

“Please what,” Ren mumbles into his collarbone, fingers teasing one of his nipples, mouth sucking a red mark into his shoulder.

“Fuck me.” Hux’s voice is so breathless and needy he can hardly recognize himself. He doesn’t care. He arches into Ren, hands grasping for anything he can find- hips, arms, chest. “Please, fuck me, Ren, _please.._ ”

“Yes, sir,” and Ren works Hux’s pajama pants off, taking Hux’s half-hard cock in a lube-slicked hand. He doesn’t bother to take his own pajamas off, just lifts Hux’s hips and rests them on his legs as one lubed hand slowly works Hux’s cock to an aching hardness and the other slips into his body. Ren works him open with a practiced hand, slowly sliding one finger in until he’d clearly adapted before adding another, and another, until Hux can easily take all three fingers.

Hux can barely breathe. His entire body feels like it’s on fire; his hands are wound so tightly into the bedsheets that he doesn’t even need to see them to know his knuckles are white; his chest is heaving as he throws his head back into the pillow with every new touch, every new sensation. Ren’s fingers fill him but he wants more, he wants Ren so close he can’t tell where his skin ends and Ren’s begins, and right as he opens his mouth to say this, Ren seems to sense it.

“Shh,” Ren whispers, leaning over him. “Be patient.” If Hux could think clearly, he’d be furious. But he can’t, so he simply whimpers instead, arching up towards Ren, trying to feel skin against his. “I’ve never done this before. I don’t want to hurt you.”

That clears his mind. Hux blinks, staring at Ren; he can’t stop himself from squirming against the fingers that continue to work into him, but he certainly can’t let that comment slide. “I’m sorry?”

“Hm?” Ren’s face is all innocence and smeared makeup.

“Did you just say you’ve never done this before.”

“Yes.”

“…Are you fucking serious, Ren?”

“Yes?” Ren cocks his head, confused. His fingers pause, and Hux whimpers. “Is… that’s not a problem, is it?”

“No, just-“ Hux tries to buck his hips against Ren’s hand, wanting more, but he can’t get the right leverage and he’s left to awkwardly wiggle in Ren’s arms instead. “..It’s just surprising, that’s all.”

Ren laughs, a uniquely pure sound, and begins to move his fingers again, making Hux moan. “I don’t know why. I’m always alone,” he mocks Hux, rolling his eyes. Hux opens his mouth to reply, but right then Ren’s fingers slide out of him, and he’s left making an embarrassing keening noise instead. Ren replies with another quiet chuckle. “Not much longer now,” he murmurs, and Hux can hear him lubing himself, quickly working his own cock. He moans softly, leaning more heavily over Hux.

“Fuck me,” Hux whispers, resting his face against the arm Ren’s using to steady himself by his head.

“Yes, sir,” Ren replies again.

Gently, slowly, Ren presses himself into Hux. Hux gasps; the head of Ren’s cock alone is noticeably large, and Hux has a panicked thought if maybe he can’t take the man, even after three fingers. But as Ren slides into him, as slowly as he can, Hux realizes just how much lube Ren’s managed to slather on himself. It makes all the difference. Ren’s able to slip entirely into Hux’s body, pressing his hips firmly against Hux’s ass. Above him, Ren shudders, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Oh,” Ren whispers. He places one hand on Hux’s hips, slides the other arm under Hux’s head, and slowly, slowly begins to fuck him. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Ren breathes into Hux’s ear, his deep voice making Hux shiver.

“You’re so good,” Hux murmurs back, unable to stop himself. The slow drag of Ren’s cock into him is intoxicating, and he finds himself wrapping his arms and legs around Ren, trying to get him even closer, even deeper. “Oh, fuck, you’re so _good_ , Ren, you’re so _deep…_ ”

“Fuck,” Ren stutters in response. Hux feels Ren’s face get warmer where it rests against his neck, feel his body tensing in his grasp. “Hux-“

“I want more,” Hux breathes. “I want more, I want you deeper, I want you harder- fuck me harder, please, Ren, please…” and he lets his voice break a little, underlining his desperation. Just as he expected, Ren can’t help but oblige, his pace quickening slightly, his breath much harder than before. _He gets off on being praised? Of course he does,_ Hux thinks, grinning against Ren’s shoulder. “You’re so _big_ , fuck, you’re so _good,_ oh…”

“Oh,” Ren echoes, shuddering; his pace gets harder and sloppier, not nearly as even and careful as before, clearly trying to give Hux what he wants before it’s too late. Hux grins wider, moaning into Ren’s ear as absolutely deliciously as he can manage, listening to Ren’s voice babble out _oh fuck fuck fuck_ ’s with unparalleled glee. Ren cums inside him, hard, gasping, his entire body tensing and shuddering as he tries to ride out the orgasm and still fuck Hux at the same time.

Then, awkwardly, Ren leans up, face red as a beet. “I didn’t mean to come that fast,” he murmurs, clearly embarrassed.

Hux laughs. “Oh, Ren. Please. That’s half the fun.” He can’t help the quiet moan as Ren slides out of him again, but he’s grinning again the second his body adjusts. “I’m rather pleased with your performance.”

“Hum.” Ren flops heavily beside Hux, grimacing. “You didn’t even get off,” he murmurs, forlorn again.

“No,” Hux replies, kissing Ren’s forehead. “But you could still get me off.”

Ren looks up at him with his large, dark eyes, and Hux can’t keep himself from kissing Ren, as if trying to taste the intensity inside him. As they kiss, Ren’s hand wraps gently around Hux’s cock, beginning to slowly pump it; as their kissing deepens, Ren’s hand moves faster, grips harder, bringing a dizzying amount of pressure to Hux’s chest, behind his eyes. He breaks away in the middle of the kiss, panting, and Ren takes it as a sign to pull up and away from Hux. Before Hux has the ability to complain, Ren’s leaning down and taking Hux’s cock deep into his mouth.

Hux has never professed to being particularly large, where his dick is concerned; he knows he’s pretty average, and he’s never felt the need to drag or inflate himself because of it. Hearing Ren gag softly against his cock, however, fills him with such an indescribably potent ego boost that he practically comes from the sound alone. Ren sucks him like a man who has no concept of how big his mouth really is or how much his throat can take, and keeps accidentally taking too much at a time, leading to another soft gag every few times he bobs down again. Feeling Ren’s throat close around him is equally intoxicating, and Hux is lost for words, unable to give much more than tiny moans, simply working his fingers into Ren’s long, soft hair and letting himself enjoy the sensations.

It improves as Ren continues; he learns to work most of Hux’s shaft with his hand, focusing his tongue on the delicate head of Hux’s dick instead and only sliding down every so often. Once Ren’s clearly become comfortable with the pace, Hux begins to slightly buck his hips into Ren’s mouth, which Ren is able to handle quite well, considering. When Hux comes, panting out Ren’s name, back arching, Ren holds his hips down gently with his free hand, the other not stopping its steady pace on Hux’s dick until the cum stops.

Ren sits up slowly, swallowing hard; he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans up to kiss Hux deeply. Hux moans softly, enamored with the powerful feeling that accompanies tasting himself on Ren’s lips.

“I hope that was okay,” Ren murmurs, lying beside Hux again. “I’ve done _that_ before but I don’t get a lot of practice.”

“That was perfectly fine,” Hux replies, feeling the crushing weight of his exhaustion coming back in full force. He slumps against Ren, feeling warm and sluggish, and smiles. “I can always teach you.”

“I think I’d like that,” Ren whispers into his ear.

If Ren says anything else, Hux never hears it, falling hard into sleep. When he wakes, he’s covered in blankets, his clothes piled on the bedside table; turning slightly, he finds Ren, still shirtless, sleeping deeply beside him.

 

That weekend, thankfully, is dedicated to photoshoots; Hux is treated to watching Ren have his makeup done, his hair laced with feathers and wings strapped to his back. The photographers take a series of ridiculous album covers featuring Ren in the center as some dark, fallen angel. Hux takes no small amount of pleasure seeing Ren dressed this way, especially knowing how embarrassed he happens to be.

“You look perfect,” he says, once Ren’s complained for the 45000th time.

“This is ridiculous,” Ren replies, blushing. “I feel like an idiot.”

“You are an idiot. But they’ll love it, I assure you. There are entire demographics that just eat this shit up.”

“Such a supportive manager,” Ren sneers, glaring at Hux.

“I try my very best.”

The photos come out fairly well without editing, but the photographer insists they can look better, and promises Hux they’ll be done by Tuesday. Satisfied with this, Hux sends the band home for the day, eager to return to the hotel room and his newly forged sexual toy.

When he and Ren return, they order Chinese takeout, which Hux enjoys eating with chopsticks from the box whilst riding Ren senseless.


	9. Chapter 9

**REN’S ALBUM ART STILL UNREVEALED – _Ren’s face, identity still hidden_**

“Hux?”

“Hm?” Hux doesn’t look up from his newspaper, too interested in reading about how dastardly Ren is for not revealing his face to the world yet. He snorts, amused.

“Did you hear me?”

“What?” Hux finally glances up, raising an eyebrow; Ren sits to the left of him, as he always does when they’re driven to work.

“What are we?” Ren asks again, blushing and looking down at the helmet in his lap.

“…You’re joking,” Hux replies, awkwardly flipping the page to his newspaper. He glances at the partition between them and the driver; it’s up, but he doesn’t feel comfortable discussing it too loudly, so he scoots closer to Ren, leaning it. “You are joking, aren’t you.”

“No. Just. Curious.” Ren shrugs, leaning in and hushing his voice too. “I guess. I’m… this is new to me.”

“Don’t overcomplicate it, all right? We’re having fun. That’s all there is to it.” Hux sneers at his newspaper. “You know that the President will be furious if he finds out I’ve been fucking his precious apprentice.”

“Oh, probably, yeah.”

“So it has to remain between us. It’s just something you and I are doing in our spare time, for the hell of it, because we can. We’ll act as we always do in the day, and at night we’ll see what we can cook up. Is that a good enough answer?”

“Yes,” Ren murmurs, nodding. Then, with a small, wicked grin, he looks up at Hux. “So I’m assuming that means you want it to continue.”

“I can’t imagine we’ll have much time, but yes, Ren. I don’t mind continuing to have sex with you.”

“Don’t worry, Hux,” Ren replies brightly, smirking. “I don’t exactly have a lot of sex. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

 

For someone who insists he doesn’t have a lot of sex, Kylo Ren is insatiable. All week, he hounds Hux for more and more. Between the band constantly practicing, recording and mixing their songs, and Hux fielding reporters looking for the next big scoop, checking in on the photo editors working diligently on posters and album art and other clients needing help, the two somehow manage to work in an embarrassing amount of sex. Ren is constantly pulling Hux away when no one’s looking; he entices Hux into no less than three different utility closets, a bathroom stall, one of the couches in the lounge the band often uses and once even gives him a blowjob from under the mixing board as he works on paperwork. It doesn’t stop in the hotel, either; the second they’re in the door, Ren’s on his knees again, pulling at Hux’s clothing, mewling for more.

Their already too-fast routine becomes breakneck once Ren decides he can’t keep his hands off of Hux, and each night Hux sleeps so deeply he finds he can’t complain the next morning. Waking tangled in sheets next to Kylo Ren, of all people, is particularly pleasant; he would be lying if he didn’t feel fantastic finding the wild-haired singer half-awake in his bed, especially with a body like that.

But, to a point, it does feel a little ridiculous, Hux decides. He hadn’t been laid this much throughout most of his life, too busy working; having his own personal blowjob machine on hand was beginning to get somewhat overwhelmed. Ren, however, didn’t seem to mind.

“There is no way, _no way_ you’re not having trouble singing with all that cum in your throat,” Hux hisses down at Ren during one of their many breaks, his cheeks coloring at how loud and sloppy Ren manages to make a blowjob sound, embarrassed that such a display makes him even harder, even more desperate. Ren pulls his mouth away from Hux’s dick with a disgusting _pop!_ just long enough to smile up at Hux, wicked and unrepentant, before returning to his work.

It almost seems to be a game to Ren, as if he’s trying to get them caught; he goes as far as to interrupt Hux in his office with Susan still outside. Hux had been desperately trying to catch up on his emails, hiding from Ren in the hopes he could manage- of course, once again to no avail.

“Please, Hux,” Ren moans, pulling at Hux’s sleeve.

“You are _ridiculous,_ ” Hux snaps, exasperated. “Sit down in that chair and stay there until I’m done.” Ren obeys, but he moans quietly, louder and louder until Hux is forced to look up. “You’re joking.”

“I miss you.”

“It’s been forty fucking minutes!”

“So?” Ren grins.

“Fine. _Fine,_ ” Hux finally hisses, standing. “Get over here. And I had better not hear a _sound_.”

They end the night with Ren on his back on Hux’s desk, hair splayed out and moaning desperately as Hux fucks him hard. He’d taken his time working Ren open, which was enjoyable in its own right, but sliding himself into Ren’s tight body was something indescribable. Ren seemed to enjoy it too, begging and gripping the desk tightly enough that Hux could have sworn it creaked under his hands. When Susan calls to say goodnight, Hux had to cover Ren’s mouth with his hand, politely asking Susan to have a lovely night as Ren’s eyes roll up into his head and he cums hard against his own stomach.

They quickly begin to learn things about the other; Hux delights in learning that Ren is shameless with a partner he trusts, and can be brought to the edge just by being praised or degraded. This works even better when Hux laces praise into the degradation, telling his pretty little whore just how good he can suck, how pretty he is. Ren learns how much Hux enjoys having his hair pulled, having his shoulders forced down, and being fucked hard; if anyone notices the next day how stiffly Hux seems to be moving, no one mentions it, and Ren smirks at him for hours from across the booth. Ren hardly even has the time to complain that the media’s annoyance that they still haven’t seen his face when said face is being pulled further down onto Hux’s hips or pushed hard into the mattress.

Despite this- or perhaps, Hux muses, because of it- Ren still manages to help push the band into finishing songs before the end of the week. His energy seems boundless, his mood impossibly high, and he praises his band members when they seem to need it most, raising the harried recording booth’s morale by an impressive amount. Come Friday, they have 9 finished songs, mixed and ready to print, and even begin to discuss finishing another over the weekend. Matt helpfully arranges the songs for Hux in an email that he’s able to forward to Snoke.

That night, Hux sits in his office finishing the week’s reports, waiting for a reply from Snoke. It was a small blessing, to be alone; without anyone here observing him, he didn’t have to hide how anxious he was about it. When a soft knock on the door interrupts him, he sighs, sitting back, certain Ren had somehow snuck back up even if Hux had specifically sent him home first.

“Oh, Phasma,” he calls across the office when her tall form enters. “It’s you.”

“Of course it’s me,” she responds drily. “Who else would it be.”

“Name someone, I’m sure they have something to pester me with.” Hux sighs again, leaning back onto his desk to finish typing the email he’d been writing. “It’s been nearly impossible to keep up this week.”

“I’ve noticed.” Phasma sits in the chair in front of his desk, scooting it closer and more to the center of his vision; she folds her hands on her lap, watching him type. “The media’s in quite a tizzy this week, have you seen?”

“I haven’t,” Hux replies with no small amount of embarrassment, pausing for just a second to flash her a small grimace. “I’ve been so busy..”

“They’re annoyed that Ren’s face is still hidden.”

“Oh, is that all. That, I knew.”

“They’re also annoyed that he’s releasing the album the night of the first tour date. They seem to think it’s a failure before it’s even begun.”

“Well, we’ll just have to prove them wrong, then, won’t we,” Hux responds, tapping his mouse. That finished, he sits back in his chair, folding his hands over his lap to mirror Phasma’s stance. “I have faith that, between our rapidly growing fanbase and the media storm that will hit after his first show, we’ll be selling tickets like mad. Look,” and he pulls up his tablet, tapping t it insistently; he pushes it across the desk for Phasma to see. She leans over it curiously. “We’re already selling tickets at almost all of our venues. I kept the tour small, just in case, but it seems to be paying off.”

“That’s excellent news,” Phasma murmurs, pawing through the screens. “We might have to add a second night at one or two of these. This one, certainly.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. We might want to play on his mystique, keep them wanting more. You know..” He takes back the tablet, tapping at it again; he selects a certain week and pushes it back, pointing. “Our ticket sales actually spiked after your interview.”

“How sweet. Perhaps they think I’ll be singing.”

“Do you not have any interest?”

“You know I don’t,” Phasma replies, leaning back with a raised eyebrow. “I quit because my voice couldn’t handle it anymore. I’m much happier just playing my guitar.”

“I was hoping you’d recovered.”

“I have. That doesn’t mean I’m willing to wound myself again. Besides,” Phasma smirks, “Ren is taking to his position swimmingly, I’d say. I’d only ever want to be his backup vocals. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you, after all.”

“Disappoint me?” Hux raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes. I know you don’t want me to interrupt him. You seem to adore his voice.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I’d say you’re enjoying much more than that, honestly.”

“Don’t be preposterous.”

“Am I?” Hux glares at her suspiciously, saying nothing. “How long have you been fucking him?”

“What makes you think I’m fucking him.” Now it’s Phasma’s turn to stare suspiciously, saying nothing. They peer at each other for almost a full minute before Hux finally sighs. “All right, all right- maybe a week. Maybe. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I knew you would. He’s exactly your type.”

“Exactly my type?”

“More trouble than he’s worth.” She shrugs. “And I’m sure his body doesn’t help. You do always seem to go in for broad shoulders and a tight ass.”

“It doesn’t help,” Hux murmurs. “I don’t like how much you know about me.”

“I don’t either.” Phasma laughs. “But it does come in handy. Please, Aloysius, please just be careful. This is only just beginning, and it’s going to be a terribly long tour if you two have a fight in the middle of it.”

“I know. I’m going to try not to overcomplicate anything,” Hux replies, looking down at his tablet. The numbers stare back at him, pure black and white, unwavering. “And I’ve convinced him not to, either. Which is good, but I’m not hopeful.”

“No? You don’t think he’ll respect that?”

“Oh, no, it’s not that at all. It’s just, the sheer amount of bullshit surrounding him is incredible, it really is.”

“But you do know what you’re doing.” Phasma smiles.

Hux smiles after a moment, a tired little thing. “Oh, I hope so. That’s what I keep telling myself, anyways,” he murmurs. “Are you ready? For next week?”

“Best I’ll ever be,” she replies, standing. Leaning over, Phasma taps his tablet, dropping the screen and sending it to the home page. “Try and get some rest tonight. And I do mean _rest_ , not just having your brains blown out by Kylo Ren.”

“I’ll try,” Hux calls after her as she heads towards the door. “But he’s insatiable. It’s a little embarrassing, honestly.”

“I’m sure you’re just hating it!” Phasma calls back, laughing, as she slips out the door.

 

Somehow, after their nightly romping and in a moment of breathless peace, Ren manages to convince Hux to paint his nails. Hux agrees, only because he knows how viciously depressed Ren could get if he’d painted his own nails badly, so he finds himself sitting in between Ren’s legs on the bed, carefully painting black stripes on his bit-short nails.

“Thank you,” Ren murmurs for what has to be the seventh time in one minute.

Hux sighs. “You’re welcome, for the last bloody time.”

“No one’s ever done this for me before.”

“I’m not surprised,” Hux snorts, cocking his head. “You seem to have a lot of things no one’s willing to do for you.”

“I supposed I’d have to be near someone once in a while, wouldn’t I.”

“I suppose you would.”

There’s a moment’s pause, and Hux glances up. “I want to ask you an awkward question.”

“Mm.”

“Where do the cuts on your shoulders come from?”

“Hm? These?” Ren reaches up with his free hand and touches the pale curves on his bare shoulder. “Oh. I, ah.” He blushes slightly, looks away. “It’s embarrassing.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“It’s just something I used to do when I was angry,” he mutters, still not able to look Hux in the face. “To calm myself. Clear my mind. I did it enough in the same places that they scarred. No one’s ever-“

“Noticed, I’m sure.” Hux raises an eyebrow, glancing up at Ren for half a second, who uneasily glanced away again. “You’re never shirtless with anyone.”

“That’s true.” Ren watches him for a long moment, switching hands once Hux finished with the first. “You’re not.. upset?”

“Why would I be upset. It’s not really any of my business. Are you still doing it?”

“No, not really.”

“Then there’s nothing I have to be worried about. I did ask.”

“I just… mm. I worry.”

“Worry about?”

“Being too much,” Ren replies quietly, glancing away again.

“Too much. Hmm.” Hux pauses, giving a quiet laugh. “You are too much, Ren. That’s your nature.”

“That’s not a good thing,” Ren mutters derisively.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Hux replies, shrugging.

“No?”

“I don’t think so. You just need the proper guidance.”

“You’re starting to sound like the Supreme Leader,” Ren laughs.

“Oh, don’t say that,” Hux groans, grimacing. “Not even as a joke.”

“Are they done?”

“Almost. You need another coat.” Hux pauses, regarding Ren with a raised eyebrow. “You’re always wearing gloves.”

“Yes.”

“So why paint your nails, then?”

“Oh. I don’t know.” Ren surveys his nails, raising an eyebrow. “Wow. You.. really are precise, aren’t you.”

“I strive for precision in all I do,” Hux replies, shrugging. “Painting someone else’s nails is much easier than painting your own, as well. It only looks difficult.”

“I guess it makes me feel… better, somehow. I don’t know. It makes me feel as if I…” Ren blushes. “I don’t know. Pretty.”

Hux stares at him for a long moment. “Pretty.”

“Yeah,” and Ren turns away. “I know my face is weird. Without my long hair my ears stick out. My nose is big. I was told all about it, as a child,” and he laughs, an empty bitter sound. “But this is… pretty. Entrancing, a bit. I like it.”

“I see.” Hux glances over Ren’s hands, cocking his head again. “Well. When they dry, I’ll do another coat, and then it’s time for bed.”

“Fair enough,” Ren replies, leaning in to kiss Hux’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me, damn it,” Hux sighs, irritated.

 

Finally, finally, Snoke replies. He waits, of course, as long as he possibly can; it’s not until Sunday night that Hux is contacted with a begrudging phone call. Ren is sleeping in his own room tonight, resting before the first big day of practicing for the tour, and so Hux is able to take the call immediately, ignoring the way his heart feels as if it’s fallen into his stomach.

“General,” Snoke greets.

“President,” Hux responds.

“I have finally listened to this album you’ve sent me,” Snoke sighs. His tone is so annoyed, as if he’s only begrudgingly giving Hux this call, that Hux immediately feels annoyed in response. “It is.. dreadful.”

There’s a long pause, Snoke apparently waiting for Hux’s response. “Oh,” he finally says.

“But, it is an album. And, from the pedantic lyrics, I can only guess my apprentice was responsible.”

“Yes.” Hux feels another spike of annoyance, both in taking offense on Ren’s behalf and at himself for being offended. If he were speaking to Phasma, they might have laughed about Ren’s awful flowery poetry, but now, in the harsh voice of the man who calls himself Ren’s mentor, it’s insulting. Hux wonders if he’s getting attached. “I didn’t think it was so terrible.”

“I will allow your little tour, then, General,” Snoke continues, as if Hux had never spoken. “As little as I agree with or support your choices in this endeavor. You have ruined his image, shown his face to the world; when the vultures come for him, we shall see how hard you’ve worked for your success. You will still be responsible when he fails, Hux.”

“I have faith that we’ve done good work here, sir,” Hux replies, feeling oddly wounded. “I have faith he’ll weather it well.”

“That’s because you are a fool,” Snoke spits. “When he is humiliated at the end of this tour, when he is wounded, I can promise you- he will return with his tail between his legs, and your career will be over.”

“I don’t think it’s fair to place my career on his shoulders,” Hux replies despite himself. “I’ve done what you asked. I made him a success.”

“For now, General,” Snoke sighs. “For now. And not much longer.”

Hux hardly notices when Snoke hangs up, staring at the doors with no small amount of anxiety in his stomach.


	10. Chapter 10

**KYLO REN’S TOUR BEGINS FRIDAY– _Can he hold his own without the Knights?_**

Hux doesn’t bother telling Ren about Snoke’s warnings or threats. Instead, he tells the band the next day that they have Snoke’s blessing, and that Snoke had definitely listened to the album. They focus on that and move forward, seemingly excited for the chance to finish their mission, Ren especially. As the week progresses, they get further and further in planning for the upcoming show and the following shows- but they also get more and more stressed, everyone’s personalities clashing after so many hours of practice. Finn, for the most part, keeps to himself and performs admirably; Slip, however, is not so lucky. After hours of being berated through both Monday and Tuesday, it finally comes to a head.

“Enough!” Ren bellows, turning on Slip and throwing down his helmet. “You,” he hisses. “Do you know. Your fucking part.”

“Yes?” Slip whispers, immediately cowing under Ren’s rage. “I didn’t-

“You fucked up, _again._ Again! It’s been how many fucking times that we’ve rehearsed this song? How many times? And you’ve fucked it up _every single fucking time._ Enough. Enough!” he yells again, and Slip visibly flinches.

Finn starts to stand from behind his drum kit, but Phasma holds out a hand, stopping him. She steps across the stage, getting between Ren and Slip with a grim face.

“Enough,” she echoes, and Ren steps back a few feet. “You’re right. He keeps making mistakes. So we’ll replace him.”

Slip and Ren react at the same time.

“Captain, please!” Slip cries, ignored.

“Are you serious? We’ve got three fucking days to the first show! He’s the only one we’ve had with us this entire time-“ Ren starts, voice getting louder as he talks.

“I know that,” Phasma interrupts, shaking her head once to silence Ren. “I know that. But I have someone who is very quick to pick up tabs, and will be thrilled to tour with us. I highly suggest bringing him in. We can practice again tomorrow, and he’ll fill in.”

“And if he fails?”

“Then you decide which failure you’d rather bear,” Phasma replies easily, shrugging. “Slip is consistent. You can decide which is livable.”

Slip’s replacement is an angrier looking man with broad shoulders and a grim demeanor; Hux doesn’t care much for him, but it isn’t Hux’s decision, and he leaves it to Ren’s decision. Surprisingly, the man manages to play every cue perfectly, as if he’d been practicing it for days. Phasma gives Ren a tight smile at the end of the set, clearly unhappy.

“Well,” she asks, voice entirely toneless.

“He’ll do,” Ren replies tersely, glancing back at the new bassist. “He is?”

“Zeroes.” The man nods when his name is said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought this might happen. I’ve been sending him our songs in case we need to replace myself or Slip.”

“I see. Excellent thinking.”

“I aim to please,” Phasma replies, not managing to turn completely before rolling her eyes.

Hux notices that Finn doesn’t seem to care for Zeroes either, keeping even quieter than before; he wonders what they possibly could have gone through, under Phasma, to inspire such a reaction. He decides he doesn’t want to ask, and focuses instead on keeping the band on track.

 

“Are you nervous?”

It’s just them, now. Ren’s sitting, focused and tense, staring at the door; Hux sits across from him, watching him, ignored tablet on his lap. Ren shifts, the feathers in his hair moving as he does, and glances at Hux.

“I’m terrified,” he murmurs, and flashes Hux a tiny smile. He looks as if he’s hardly slept; after the week they’ve had, Hux doesn’t blame him. Constant designs, rehearsals, staging and ordering had left the week feeling long, and yet Hux could have sworn Sunday was just a few hours ago. “Shame there’s not more time. I always feel better after I give you a BJ.”

“I don’t think my body could handle it, with the way this month has been.” Hux smiles softly at Ren. His panic is palpable, but he’s handling it well; Hux finds himself even feeling somewhat fond of the way he steels himself, rolling his shoulders, setting his jaw.

“Good point.” Ren snorts. “It has been crazy, hasn’t it.”

“You haven’t helped either, with your constant sexual appetite.”

“As if you’re complaining.”

They’re both silent for a long moment. Ren stares at the door again, clenching his teeth together hard enough that his jaw visibly tenses. Hux stares at Ren, watching him think.

“You’re going to do just fine,” Hux finally says, voice soft. “Everyone will love you, I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not worried about what everyone else thinks,” Ren replies, glancing at Hux. He smiles again, the same tiny, sad thing that pulls at the edges of his lips, and shakes his head. “Not really. Not right now, anyways. They’re going to love me or hate me. I’m more concerned about what you think.”

“Ren,” Hux blurts, because this feels like some heavy confession, something Hux can’t carry alone. The near-reverence in Ren’s voice especially scares him, and he shifts where he sits, as if he’s considering running for the door.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to-“ Ren pauses, grapples with the terminology. “..Profess my undying love, or anything. Relax.”

“That’s not-“

“I just want you to feel as if your work wasn’t pointless.” Ren stands, stretching himself out; he picks up his helmet, clicks the buttons on the sides to prepare it to fit around his head. “I want you to see the work I’ve done, and consider it worth your time. I don’t want to fail, by any means, but I …especially don’t want you to. Not on my behalf. If you crash and burn, I won’t-“ and his voice gets softer, “…I won’t let it be my fault.”

“Ren, I-“ This still feels too heavy, too much. Hux moves to stand, but Ren holds out a gloved hand to stop him.

“I’ve got to go now. It’s time.” He winks at Hux, slipping the helmet onto his head. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need my luck, Ren,” Hux manages to call after him as he opens the door. “You’re clearly capable on your own.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Ren replies, “won’t we,” his voice amused, and the door closes behind him.

 

The lights come up slowly and the crowd goes wild.

There’s nothing even to really see, yet; the lights that raise first are against the backdrop that hides the rest of backstage from the crowd, throwing the members of the band into a stark contrast. Their silhouettes give away nothing as they begin to play, slowly, a song no one in this crowd has ever heard before. The damned mic stand lights up then, in all its glory, throwing the dark figure of Kylo Ren into dim red light. He looks, in the soft outlines the light shows, like he’s wearing his helmet and Knight of Ren outfit- it’s a dumbed down version, easier to take off, but it is a close facsimile.

He starts to sing, slowly, through the modulator on the helmet. The crowd is somewhat dampened by this, but it’s all by design, all Ren’s idea, and he doesn’t falter as he carries on. Their disappointment is understandable to Hux, of course; though Ren is definitely singing now, moreso than he ever did with the helmet on at a Knights show, he at least was helmetless on television, and this was supposed to be his big reveal. “It’s just like the beginning of the album,” Ren had reasoned. “It’ll make the reveal way better, trust me.”

Hux watches from the sidelines, suddenly extremely nervous. This is it: everything he’s worked for, everything they’ve worked together on, the make or break moment, all culminated in how the crowd reacts to his helmet coming off. He feels his fate firmly held in Ren’s hands, shuddering somewhat.

The song is slow, and Ren sings his part perfectly, even with the modulator hiding his proper tones. As the song begins to get faster and the notes begin to raise, he follows along, widening his stance. His hands rise slowly at his sides, past his shoulders, to the helmet- there they rest- the song comes to a rising crescendo- and then in one fluid motion, at the same moment the single spotlight hits him, he pulls it off and belts out the next line.

The crowd _explodes._ Hux feels himself let out a slow breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, shocked at how effective that was. Ren throws the helmet away from him, and it clatters unnoticed to the side of the stage, a powerful symbol of his crumbling disinterest in Snoke, in his Knights. As he sings, he struts across the stage and tears pieces of his armor away; he tosses them into the crowd without remorse. Hux wonders how much they’ll run for on eBay and makes a mental note to check later.

The band is finally revealed after the song is over and Ren is standing in the center of the stage, triumphant, holding his arms up in a wide v, his mic stand held in one hand as if it’s weightless. His chest is bare, his body is glistening, and the feathers in his hair and bracelets on his wrists look exactly like they belong. He’s gorgeous. He’s _stunning_ , if Hux were ever, ever, ever the type to say such a thing.

It’s all lead up to this point, and honestly, standing here at the edge, Hux decides: it was worth it.

“How is everyone out there tonight!” he calls into the mic after a moment, and the crowd can’t possibly scream any louder. They all seem to individually vie for his attention. He smiles, his nose wrinkling in that way that truly means he’s delighted, and laughs at the crowd, buoyed by their energy, their excitement. The energy around him is almost visible, and he seems to have it entirely under control. “You’re all so lovely, you know? We have a great show planned for you tonight- let’s get to it, shall we?” He wanders to Phasma, bouncing beside her with his mic stand. “Ready, Captain?”

“Ready when you are,” Phasma replies dryly to his mic when he holds it out to her, winking at the crowd, who drink it up, screaming as much as they can.

He laughs. “Enough waiting, let’s go! One, two, three-”

Kylo Ren absolutely rules the stage, commanding the crowd with a well-practiced hand; he’s clearly got control of the situation, and he struts in front of his fans as if they should be so lucky to touch him. He drags his fingertips over the outstretched hands, never skipping a beat as he sings. He swings his glowing mic stand like the sword he insists it is, and the air is electric. Hux can’t believe this is the same pedantic, shy, angry man he’s had to chase around like a child and pull kicking and screaming out of his shell for all these long weeks. It’s like night and day, honestly. The difference is incredible.

Hux likens it to watching a highly trained swordsman fight, or someone who’s been training to dance all their lives give a compelling solo performance. He leans as far around the edge of the set piece hiding him backstage as he dares, trying to see as much of this version of Ren as he can, drinking in his energy and excitement as if it’s water and he’s in the middle of a desert.

Truly beautiful.

Hux leans back again; he manages to catch eyes with Phasma, who winks at him. He smiles and nods, and pulls away from the stage, retreating to Ren’s dressing room to wait for the show to be over. There are a lot of plans to make, and a lot of shows to still perform and perfect, but for now- now he can rest. Now, he can relax with the knowledge that he did the impossible: he managed Kylo Ren into something noticeably successful, and with so much more to do, so much more to go.

_Suck it, Snoke_ , Hux thinks to himself, grinning at his tablet.

**Author's Note:**

> oh my GOD this this took me forever to write AND IT'S NOT EVEN THE END. it wasn't supposed to be this long, & it's actually only half finished; the rest will be a sequel called "rey and the rebels". the way this is going, tho, it will likely be in three parts.
> 
> here's the summary:  
> The same night Kylo Ren's band takes off, another starts in secret: Finn, overwhelmed by the lights and people, runs from the concert with Ren's songs still hidden in his bag. He runs into a college student, Rey, who helps him for the night; little do the two know, in just under a year and with the training of the legendary Skywalker/Organa team, they'll both be fighting for the title of Best Band with Poe Dameron against Kylo Ren himself at the Battle of the Bands!  
> At the same time, with the earlier loss of Slip and now Finn disappearing, Ren's left with half a band and a whole tour left to play. Can Hux and Ren navigate their new relationship on top of the tour, the media circus and Snoke's increased pressure?
> 
> you can find me @ dadcastellanos on tumblr!


End file.
